After grief, laughter.
Confusing, refreshing, out loud.
After grief, joy
Blossoms like a rose on a bush with thorns below.
Clarity ensues, pursues, and demands a better you.
After grief, growth, rebirth, metamorphosis.
After grief, we fly.
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Alice in Authorland 
For some reason, this led me to look again at Emily Dickinson’s poem on this subject, Alice. She covers a lot more of the territory before getting to the release you talk about here–but release there is eventually, as you so rightly say. Here’s the poem:
After great pain, a formal feeling comes – (372)
BY EMILY DICKINSON
After great pain, a formal feeling comes –
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –
The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’
And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?
The Feet, mechanical, go round –
A Wooden way
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone –
This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –
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Touching. I didn’t know that poem. Thank you for sharing.
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