Today, Vice President Biden said:
For no matter how many anniversaries you experience, for at least an instant, the terror of that moment returns; the lingering echo of that phone call; that sense of total disbelief that envelops you, where you feel like you’re being sucked into a black hole in the middle of your chest. [...]
We wish we didn’t have to be here. We wish we didn’t have to commemorate any of this. And it’s a bittersweet moment for the entire nation, for all of the country, but particularly for those family members gathered here today.
These words are a comfort, but not exactly a revelation, to someone who has experienced grief. They are true words, words that make you nod along in agreement and think,
Yes. Yes, that's it. That's how it feels.
Biden can speak these words, knows these words resonate, not because he is vice president, but because he has grieved. And not in a "Look, I'm wearing a flag lapel pin to show my sympathy" way. He has taken that phone call, felt that terror, fallen into that black hole, commemorated his own tragic anniversaries, and mourned the loss of a love and a life taken from him far too soon.
For those who are in this tragic club, Biden spoke a simple truth. A universal truth. When we commemorate our loss, we feel it all: the loss, the trauma, the pain, the terror, and yes, the bittersweetness of the love we still carry in our souls and the agony of the absence of the ones we love.
So of course it was only a matter of time before professional critics had to dismiss Biden's words as wrong:
Conservative radio hosts Sean Hannity and Rush Limbaugh on Tuesday each took to the airwaves to slam Vice President Joe Biden for calling the 9/11 anniversary a “bittersweet moment” at a Flight 93 memorial event.
Hannity blasted Biden as either “callous” or “ignorant beyond belief” for using the word “bittersweet” to discuss the 9/11 anniversary, and Limbaugh told his listeners that “with 9/11, it’s all bitter.”
How lucky they are that they do not get it. How lucky that they cannot wrap their tiny, cruel minds around grief in all its forms. How lucky that they have never had to take that phone call, have never had to hear the word "dead" and felt the universe collapse on itself.
How lucky they are that they cannot comprehend how grief can be bittersweet. That in your darkest moment, as you think of your beloved, you can still smile at the thought of him, still laugh at a memory, still close your eyes and almost feel his arms around you again, only to open your eyes to the cruelty of knowing he is gone and will never smile, never laugh, never hold you again.
How lucky they are that they needn't force themselves through every day without their beloved. That they don't sigh at the thousands of seconds, of minutes, of days, of years spread before them that they must endure in the cold absence of their beloved. That they don't have to cling desperately to each little moment of joy and of heartache just to feel close again to their beloved.
How lucky to be so certain of what real grief should look like, sound like, to be able to dictate with such authority what kind of grieving is appropriate. That's a certainty those of us who grieve do not have, for we doubt ourselves, we doubt our own range of emotions, including the ones we suspect perhaps are callous or wrong. We may seek comfort from our friends, our families, our therapists, our fellow grievers because we can never be certain we are doing it right, that we are honoring them as best we can, that in those moments we are ashamed to admit, we have thoughts and feelings we dare not share.
How lucky they are that they needn't cherish such bittersweet moments because when your beloved is taken from you, sometimes, those are the very best you can hope for.
And how very, very lucky they are that they can so easily—so ignorantly and callously—condemn a man who has grieved his beloved for so many years and yet has found the strength and courage to live on, to love on, to even give comfort to his fellow grievers. That kind of ignorance and callousness must only be possible for those who have never grieved.
And most of all, how lucky they are that tomorrow, they will awaken to a brand new day, their obligatory platitudes of fake sympathy behind them for another year as they go on with their grief-less lives, giving not one more thought to those whose terror and pain and black-hole agony and yes, bittersweetness, will not end at midnight.
Lucky indeed.