When sorrow comes, let us accept it simply, as a part of life.
Let the heart be open to pain; let it be stretched by it.
All the evidence we have says that this is the better way.
An open heart never grows bitter.
Or if it does, it cannot remain so.
In the desolate hour, there is an outcry; a clenching of the hands upon emptiness; a burning pain of bereavement; a weary ache of loss.
But anguish, like ecstasy, is not forever.
There comes a gentleness, a returning quietness, a restoring stillness.
This, too, is a door to life.
Here, also, is a deepening of meaning – and it can lead to dedication;
a going forward to the triumph of the soul, the conquering of the wilderness.
And in the process will come a deepening inward knowledge that in the final reckoning,
All is well.
A. Powell Davies