© WanHee Yoon, (Pastoral Home Faith Column #19, LA Christian Today, October 3, 2001)

Grief and death are inseparable companions in the human journey. The loss of loved ones—through divorce, separation, or unexpected death—inevitably feels like the death of a part of ourselves.

The tearing of the heart that comes with parting must be filtered through the long tunnel of sorrow. Only then can we stand again on the ground where something within us has died.

In the pain of separation, we come to realize that the self—“I”—was never truly alone. Because they existed, I could be who I was yesterday, and who I am today. Some experience grief gradually, over time. But in moments like these, when thousands are swept away in sudden death, the emotional toll is overwhelming. People cry at the sound of the national anthem. Some stand in the streets at night, holding candles, unable to bear their sorrow alone.

Grief can manifest physically—through fatigue, depression, or a loss of vitality—disrupting even the healthiest rhythms of life. Yet grief is also a knot that must be untied by the living. Though we cannot meet those who crossed the river of death before us, they remain with us—transcending time and space, conversing silently within, shaping our lives through memory.

I lost my father when I was twelve. Though I was praised as a devoted daughter while he lived, I spent decades barely thinking of him—perhaps even forgetting him. But one day, thirty years later, I wrote him a long letter. I confessed my sorrow for having forgotten him, recalled the nights I counted stars on his back, the pain of having my tooth pulled without mercy, the sadness when he gave my favorite corduroy pants to an orphan boy, and the confusion and betrayal I felt when he died.

I laid bare the grief I had hidden beneath the carpet of time. I wept like a child and finally said goodbye. Looking back, I regret not letting him go sooner. Because once I did, he returned more freely into my memory—gentler, closer than ever before.

Henri Nouwen once wrote: “Grief is the slow and painful departure of those who were once part of our familiar lives. Only after a year or more can we truly say goodbye, and the pain begins to ease. But when we let them go, they become members of our inner life. As we remember them, they become guides on our spiritual journey.”

Through every war as well as the tragedy of the World Trade Center attacks, we experienced collective death. Those who were lost—and those who watched helplessly—were thrust into deep sorrow and wounded by the limits of human strength. As time passes, this grief will continue to shape our lives in countless ways.

But if we focus only on sorrow and resentment, we risk falling into despair or remaining trapped in grief far too long.

Instead, let this experience awaken new values in life. Let it clarify what truly matters. In doing so, we may find a path toward growth and healing.

Now, the innocent victims have become guides in our lives. They invite us to choose love stronger than death, and to live each day more deeply, more beautifully.