“When sadness comes, just sit by the side and look at it and say, “I am the watcher, I am not sadness,” and see the difference.  Immediately you have cut the very root of sadness.  It is no more nourished.  It will die of starvation.”

— Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

As Christmas approaches and the preparations begin to take shape, the anticipation grows of joyful times spent with family and friends.  I close my eyes and imagine the scenes in light of Christmases past; and already my heart begins to beat to the rhythm of Christmas music.  Suddenly the music fades into the background and nearly stops.  I review old scenes of times long ago with loved ones who no longer are able to join us in our holiday celebrations.  Instead of a lilting beat in time with the music, my pulse begins to sound loudly like a drum beating inside my ears.  The joyful sounds become muffled, and I feel my eyes fill with tears.  The scars on my heart begin to burn with the sadness that comes from remembering bliss and realizing that it is gone.

If we live long enough, we certainly will be visited by sorrow.  What is important is to realize that he is only a visitor — a distant cousin in the family of our emotions who comes to stay for a time and then wears out his welcome.  He is the black sheep of the family; and although we want to be sure to include him, we don’t want to look for a family resemblance that would say he is one of us.  We want to be good hosts and not offend our guest, but we need not include him in the family photos that commemorate the occasion.

Again I close my eyes and  look back again on those memories of the times with my lost loves.  I see us laughing and smiling and loving one another; and I see that Sorrow is not included in any of our celebrations.  My eyes burst open, and I see that Sorrow is not in my memories at all.  While I was paying attention to those happy scenes, he sneaked in through an unlocked window and has taken residence in the chair next to mine.  ”Hello, old friend,” I greet him, and he begins to walk toward the place I sit and crawl into the chair with me.  ”Back to your own place,” I tell him.  ”You may visit, but only for a while.  I’m expecting company.”

We sit in the silence, Sorrow and I, and he cries and sighs and wails as I speak of the memories of times long ago.  Silently, deep in my heart, I speak the names of those whose faces will not be in our family photo this year.  Sorrow offers to fill in for them, but I thank him kindly and decline his offer.  ”I am expecting your cousins,” I tell him, ” and they have agreed to stand in for our old friends — Joy will be with us and so will Tenderness and Compassion and Love.”

Sorrow begins to cry again, and my heart fills with memories of the times we have sat together.  I wrap my arms around him and hold him close.  ”It will be all right,” I tell him.  You may stay, but you need to behave yourself.  I move his chair to the corner of the room.  He will stay for our celebration, but he will not be front and center in the photos.  In years to come, when I look back on our new memories, I will strain my eyes and find him sitting in the background.  My eyes will fill with tears of recognition, and my heart will ache for just a moment.  After all, he is family.