Unadulterated Joy: How to Cultivate It Alongside Grief

A few years ago, I wrote about a simple but profound exercise a few of my ski buddies do each year: choose a single word that captures something you’d like to achieve or work toward in the coming year. As a dad still completely wracked with grief over the loss of a daughter, my word that year was “forward.” Forward implied movement. It gave a sense of future, at a time when everything around me felt like it was trying to keep me stationary and stuck. Did I succeed? Well, maybe. I kept working that year to find ways to be productive, and I do think I found some small movement forward along my journey. (The Janus Effect ‣ Kindness Lives On) This past winter, I had the opportunity to go through the same exercise with the same group of guys during a ski trip in the Canadian Rockies. And this time, I settled on my word for the year very quickly. It seemed so obvious to me: joy.

Can Joy and Grief Coexist?

Here’s why I’ve really embraced this one-word game: it forces me to name what I want to practice. It sets an intention that is easy to come back to again and again. Not something I want to magically become, and not what I expect to master – just what I want to keep reaching for. And this year, what I wanted to reach for was joy.

Joy, in particular, is something that has proven to be incredibly elusive over these past eight-plus years since Rivena died. Not because I haven’t wanted to feel joy, but because grief makes it so damn difficult. As I learned how to keep moving forward, I also discovered that being present in the moment was often the key to finding small pockets of it.

But the dark clouds that follow the memories of losing a child can overshadow the best intentions, even on the best days. Grief has a way of becoming ever-present, and as I’ve written here before, its size seems to stay in direct proportion to the love you had — and still have — for the person you lost. That didn’t mean I could never be happy. But it most definitely meant those moments of rare joy were fleeting. I had learned to catch them only in micro doses when I allowed myself to be fully in the moment.

Entering 2026, joy was right at the top of my mind because my youngest daughter, Madison, had her wedding planned for Memorial Day weekend this year. That’s why, riding in a car somewhere near Banff, the desire to allow joy into my life became crystal clear. I was bound and determined to allow myself to fully experience her wedding. I wanted to feel the pride of walking her down the aisle and the happiness of a family gathering for all the right reasons. I wanted to feel the true love we have for her and her bride. In short, I wanted to be joyful.

Before I go any further, know this: if a story about two women getting married is not something you can read with an open heart, this may not be the story for you. Or maybe it is, if you’re willing to open your heart and learn something new.

Why the Focus on Joy?

In the months preceding her death, Rivena kept a journal that detailed much about her thoughts and feelings at the time. In one of her writings, she described me as particularly stoic, rarely showing much in the way of emotion. And the truth is she nailed it. I suppose the net product of growing up in a military family, moving every two to three years, and being told to suck it up every time we left friends and familiarity behind was that I became an adult who rarely showed much emotion.

Fast forward to the immediate aftermath of trying to come to grips with the death of our first-born, and there’s no question I shut down. It was part nurture from my past, and part nature in the form of self-preservation when the things to feel are simply too overwhelmingly hard.

That’s why, as the calendar slowly ticked away toward Madison’s wedding, I set a huge personal intention to allow myself to be present. To allow myself to feel everything. To let the emotions of the day be what they were. For many people, that may just be an average Saturday. But for me, that was a big mountain to climb that took months and months of work. Numerous therapy sessions, meditations, podcasts, books, conversations with family and friends, and even some very purposeful work with a shaman and psychedelics (perhaps a story for another day).

Joy sounds like such an innocuous word. Almost too simple. But for me, it became the goal. I owed that to Madison and Emma. To Kim. To myself. And to the memory of Rivena. With Madison’s wedding ahead of us, joy became my word for 2026. For her. And for me.

I’m writing this now in the first week of September, and I am so glad to report that Madison and Emma’s wedding was everything we had hoped for. It’s taken me a few months to digest what we collectively experienced, and true to form in the timing of this blog, I’m now publishing this just in time for Rivena’s September 5^th birthday.

Wedding Day!

Madison and Emma had set their wedding date almost two years in advance – the actual date was driven by their choice of venue. They knew they wanted to have the wedding somewhere in the mountains, and as they toured one venue after another following their engagement, their list quickly became a single option. They wanted a somewhat difficult combination of rustic mountain environment with modern, tasteful décor and top-notch wedding-specific catering and service. This led them to a purpose-built venue in Pine, Colorado with – surprise – a long wait for the most desirable weekends.

The one variable that scared them, especially Madison, was the fact that this particular venue was set up for an outdoor ceremony to be followed by an indoor reception. And the unpredictability of the weather was something nobody could possibly control. Fortunately, we were gifted with what looked like it would be a postcard Colorado afternoon for their vows, with blue skies, wispy clouds, a light breeze, and sunshine. The one piece we could not control could not have worked out any better.

From there, there was a feeling of nervous excitement that oozed through the camp. I say camp because part of the deal with reserving this venue was that we also had to rent a bunch of cabins on site. And honestly, everything about it had the feeling of being at a weekend sleep-away camp: the Friday evening shuttle bus ride down to the welcome reception for extended family and out-of-town friends in Golden, the sing-along and pizza-filled ride back up the mountain, even the early morning continental breakfast setup in our cabin for everybody staying on site. By the time wedding day arrived, our cabin had become the central “getting ready” location for the wedding party.

The girls had hired a fantastic hair and makeup team from Denver to come spend the day and take care of all the women in the wedding party. My own nervous energy needed somewhere to go, so I was happy to be tasked with picking up our morning coffee from the Starbucks a few miles away, along with the pre-ordered lunch for everyone at the camp. Both required short, 15-minute drives down the road to Conifer, and both gave me something useful to do while the girls all took their turns in the hair and makeup chairs.

My favorite private moment occurred a couple hours before the wedding itself. Madison had given both Kim and me a box the week before with a few heartfelt gifts specific to the wedding. In the box was also a card that I decided to save so I could read it on the actual day. So, while Madison, Emma, Kim, and Carrie (my sister-in-law who officiated the ceremony) were all at their own stations getting made up, I sat outside on the back patio of our cabin and read the card Mads gave me. Sitting there, watching the birds in the trees, listening to the women laugh through a cracked-open door, and reading my daughter’s heartfelt words to me on her own wedding day, well… it was powerful.

Sitting there with Madison’s card in my hands was a strong reminder of what actually matters in this life. Not the things so many of us chase. Not anything you can wrap up and put in a box. Love. Plain and simple. She told me, “You made us feel loved, supported, and completely accepted, and that is something I will never take for granted.” Madison’s card was a reflection of love. And I feel so incredibly fortunate to be the recipient of this kind of love.

There are a few snapshots that I’ll carry with me from that day. Right at the top of the list are the couple minutes Madison and I had together just before we walked down the aisle.

Here we both were, full of our own emotions. Mads was so nervous; she was literally buzzing, and I could see in her eyes a mix of excitement, terror, love, and relief to have this finally happening. For my part, I felt such a wave of pride, happiness, and love for her that I might as well have been floating. I saw the infant, born just days before Christmas with a full head of hair. The precocious little girl with nonstop attitude and spirit. The high schooler who found acting as her path through her teenage years. The brave young woman who chose Manhattan for her college experience. And the strong, grounded adult now holding my arm, stunning in her wedding gown. But the best part? I was so fully present. I let myself feel the feels and experience what it was to be in the moment. The hardest part for me was trying not to cry as we became the final two to enter her wedding ceremony.

Another lasting image from the day was watching Madison and Emma exchange their vows. They each wrote their own, and neither had shared what they had written with the other. As Carrie facilitated the exchange, it was incredible hearing just how similar they were, from the tone to the details. Here were two women, both confident and capable in their own adult lives, naming the ways the other helps them become better versions of themselves. They each put things in their own words, but the sentiment moving back and forth was nearly identical. It was beautiful and inspiring to witness.

For all the fear about what the weather might do, they not only had perfect conditions for the wedding, but even managed to get some of the local wildlife involved. In the middle of the ceremony, a deer casually sauntered up to the edge of the small lake below the deck and started to drink.

And maybe just as meaningful was getting family together for a happy, celebratory occasion. It seems like every large family gathering we’ve had in the past decade has been because somebody died. So, to gather this time for love, for commitment, for joy — that felt priceless.

The celebration kicked into full gear after the ceremony. The cocktail hour, the speeches, and the food were all outstanding. But once the music started, the night really came alive. If you were one of the people there, thank you. This crew knew exactly how to hit the dance floor and pull everyone in. From the playlist that hit from the first beat to the fact that the dance floor was instantly full, Emma and Mads got to experience a true celebration of them, for them.

Making Space for Those Who Would Have Loved to Be There

We have been forced to learn so much about grief these past years. One of the biggest lessons is that you never really “get over” the loss of someone close. That loss becomes part of who you are. It is ever present. So, the work becomes learning how to make room for the people you’ve lost and carry them with you into the big moments of life.

There were a few people who would have given anything to be there in person that day. Obviously, Rivena. There’s not a single day that goes by when I don’t think about her. She is always present in my heart and in my head. And it meant a lot to see how Emma and Madison made space at the wedding for her, along with a few others who would have absolutely loved to be there.

On our side of the aisle, the first chair in the front row was reserved for Rivena. It had a sign with her name, a photo of her, and her own bouquet on the chair. And attached to the bouquet was a small amulet containing some of Rivena’s ashes.

On Emma’s side, the first chair in the front row was reserved for her father, Pat, who passed away when Emma was just thirteen. Like Rivena’s chair, it had a sign with his name as father of the bride, a photo of him, and his favorite hat. On Emma’s bouquet was a small charm with a picture of him, a beautiful gesture of a father getting to walk with his daughter at her wedding.

A quick look at the memorial table set up for the reception gave some indication of just how many people had shaped Emma and Madison. Rivena, my mom, my dad, Madison’s best friend Helen, Emma’s dad, and a few other relatives on both sides were all represented in photo and in spirit that day. Instead of diminishing the atmosphere in the room, holding space for those who couldn’t be with us made the joy feel fuller. I applaud the brides for giving us all that gift on their wedding day.

And in the toasts delivered for the brides, there were numerous mentions of all those who could not be there. Rather than bring the mood of the party down, remembering the people we love seemed to elevate the love already filling the room. Toast after toast proved that grief and joy do not have to take turns. They can and should sit at the same table.

Those Who Chose Not to Be There

While the brides held space for those who could not be there but would have loved to, I also have to call attention to the few people who chose not to attend because of their own religious beliefs. Kim’s younger brother, always known to our kids as Uncle Brian, informed Kim the year before that he and his wife could not attend the wedding. His rationale? His priest would not allow it. He also told Kim point blank that he did not support same-sex marriage, adding the statement, “I am not an ally.”

Let me be clear. Everybody is entitled to their own opinion. But what made this sting was that Brian had been a fixture in our small family for decades. My kids always revered Uncle Brian, and they always thought he loved them unequivocally.

The night we told Madison and Emma that Brian and his wife would not be attending the wedding was absolutely heartbreaking. Both girls felt judged, dismissed, and hurt by seeing just how easily someone they thought was firmly in their corner could turn away from them, simply because his religion does not align with allowing two women who deeply love one another to wed.

Love is love. I know it sounds cliché, but it’s also the plainest truth I know. Family should always be in your corner, without exception.

On a more affirming note, Kim and I could not be happier to have gained a daughter-in-law we adore in Emma, along with the extended family that comes with her, starting with her mom Kathy.

Right Here, Right Now

As I went back through my notes while writing this, I re-read the journal entry I made immediately after reading the card from Madison that I talked about earlier. While I don’t typically share here the exact words I write in my journal, I think this one makes for a perfect way to wrap this up. Reading the words I wrote that day, what strikes me is not that grief disappeared, but that joy made room for it.

Today is Maddie’s wedding day. Wow. I truly can’t believe this day is here. I feel like I’ve been so focused these past 6-9 months on making sure I’m present and able to feel all the feels on this day. I must have done a fairly good job, because today I feel the opposite of the stoic Rivena described in her journal. The reality today is I feel like I’m on the verge of tears almost constantly.

The amazing sense of pride, joy, and pure love I have toward Maddie, Kim, and now Emma is visceral. To have the opportunity to have all these people around us, all here to celebrate my incredible daughter – this is something that seemed so far from possible in the midst of our grief these last years.

I’m sitting here on the back patio, off of our room in the cabin, overlooking the deck where the ceremony will be this afternoon, the lake below, and the pine trees beyond, all under a blue sky dotted with wispy white clouds. The adjacent door to the cabin’s kitchen is open, and I can hear Maddie, Emma, Carrie, and Kim inside chatting as they get their hair and makeup done. I’m happy taking all of this in. Happy for Mads. Happy for Kim. Happy for us. I am so grateful to be right here, right now.

Love is real. Love is powerful. Love is everything.

And I’m remembering so much today about Rivena, about Mom, and about Dad. They’ve all played big parts in their own ways in getting us to today.

Wow.

Postscript

Thanks for coming along here. Happy 34^th birthday to Rivena. And bon voyage to Emma and Madison, who are on their way to Portugal for their honeymoon… astutely planned for a few months after the wedding. Find your joy!