Grieving is frowned upon in America. We are expected to buck up, to smile, and continue on with our day even in our deepest despair. Grief, in America, is marker for a visible weakness and those in active grieving are required to put on a happy face and sing a tuneful song to demonstrate their fortitude and their goodwill for their fellow kind or risk being indelibly labeled as a crybaby: If you must cry — do it in private behind a locked door and under the covers in the middle of the night and don’t make any sound.
The inability for the heartbroken to grieve in public in America is festooned by the false bravado of our historic pioneer spirit: “Our ancestors never wept or felt sorry for themselves, and so must not you!”
We need only to look to David to understand that public grieving is not only appropriate, but important, as part of the healing process.
 David pleaded with God for the child. He fasted and spent the nights lying in sackcloth on the ground.  The elders of his household stood beside him to get him up from the ground, but he refused, and he would not eat any food with them.
In that visceral, dramatic, expression, David renders for us all why grieving must be part of our expectation of life.
We must always be free to grieve — in our own way, and in our own time — and that strange, but necessary, gift to each other is the most magnificent expression of the human condition:
“I may not be able to help you; but I will weep with you.”