I remember the first time I felt pure, innocent happiness after my dad passed away.

I don’t know how many weeks or months had gone by—grief has a way of blurring time—but I remember the moment clearly. I was alone in my bedroom, music playing, dancing and singing like I had so many times as a child, as a teenager, and even as an adult when I needed to feel free. It was instinctive—my body moved, my voice followed—and for a brief moment, I felt happy.

Really happy.

And then, almost as quickly as the joy arrived, a wave of grief crashed over me. I dropped to the ground in tears.

How could I feel happiness when my dad was gone?

How could I sing and dance without him in the world?

Was this okay? Was I allowed?

In that moment, my sorrow felt just as heavy as it had in the early days. But something else happened too. As I sat there crying, a thought came to me, quiet but clear:

My dad would want nothing more than for me to be happy.

He would want to see his daughter dancing again.

He would want music in my life, joy in my heart, and light in my eyes.

And so, I wiped my tears.

I stood up.

And I kept dancing.

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Holding Grief and Joy at the Same Time

That small, tender moment became a turning point in my healing.

It didn’t mean I was “over” my grief.

It didn’t mean I had moved on.

It simply meant that I was learning how to carry both: the pain of my loss and the possibility of joy.

Grief is never about choosing one or the other. It’s about learning to hold space for both—the ache of what we’ve lost and the beauty that can still show up in our lives, even unexpectedly.

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When Joy Feels Wrong

If you’ve experienced the loss of a spouse, a parent, a child, or someone who was central to your world, you may know this tension well:

You find yourself laughing.

You feel a moment of peace.

You experience something beautiful.

And then, guilt.

Or shame. Or anger. Or a flood of sadness that reminds you, They’re not here for this.

This is normal.

At TomorrowSunrise, we sit with people who are grieving, especially those who have lost a spouse—their partner, their other half. And we recognize that the grief of a widow or widower is uniquely immense. It reshapes every part of daily life and identity. While my grief as a daughter is different, I share my story because I know that in grief, there are shared spaces where we can meet one another with compassion and understanding.

Reclaiming Your Joy—When You’re Ready

You, too, will have a moment like mine. You’ll laugh unexpectedly.

You’ll find yourself smiling at something small.

You might hum a song, or feel like moving your body, or start to feel a spark of something you thought you’d never feel again.

And you might also fall apart in the very next moment. You might cry.

You might feel angry that joy is possible at all in a world without your person. Let it happen.

Let all of it happen.

There is no wrong way to grieve, and there is no wrong way to feel joy.

Both are part of this journey.

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A Message From TomorrowSunrise

At Tomorrow’s Sunrise, we believe in honoring grief fully, and also in creating space for healing, connection, and moments of hope. We believe in sitting with the sorrow and gently encouraging the spark of life that still remains.

So when that first moment of joy comes for you—whether it’s dancing, laughing, gardening, painting, or sitting in the sunshine—we hope you’ll remember this:

You are not betraying your grief by feeling happiness.

You are honoring your love.

You are honoring your person.

And you are honoring the part of you that still deserves light, even in the midst of darkness.

When you’re ready, wipe your tears.

Stand up.

And dance again.