The greatest of the greatest pieces of art come from grief. The grief of death, absence, lost love, and defeat. Grief is a phase of sadness, a substitute for when just being sad is not momentary and the word not good or strong enough, the sadness from a specific departure from our lives. In a life so full of grief we dread the sadness, it hides in the shadows of happiness when the fleeting moments of bliss are pulled from under us. Even though we expect it, we never expect it.
  Often though, in the dredges of depression brought on by this great and terrible grief it allows us to see something we other wise may have over looked in the moment.
  That is happiness. Even when shrouded in the pitiful emptiness of grief when we look back on that person or thing or idea we so miss, finally we see our happy moments. We remember more fondly, and it dulls our regrets for things not said or deeds not done or ideas that never came into fruition because for someone or something, the clock wound down.
  The gift of sadness is it makes us know which moments were truly good, which memories we will hold dear to our hearts until our own clock, our own heart stops. Just when you think your heart is about to explode in your chest some relief comes from looking back, then going on. It comes from knowing you were happy once.