After my husband John Lennon passed away, I tried to smile for my

The words of Yoko Ono, “After my husband John Lennon passed away, I tried to smile for my health,” are heavy with sorrow and yet luminous with courage. They are not the words of one who denies grief, but of one who chooses to survive it. For in them lies the wisdom that even in the deepest pain, the act of smiling—however fragile, however forced—can be a medicine for the heart, a bridge from despair to life. Her testimony teaches us that the body and spirit are bound together, and that healing begins not only in tears, but also in the stubborn decision to summon joy, even in brokenness.

The passing of John Lennon, a figure loved across the world, was not only a personal tragedy for Yoko Ono but a collective wound. Yet where the world mourned a hero, she mourned a husband. Her choice to smile for her health was a radical act of resilience. It was a way of saying that grief, though immense, would not consume the living entirely. The ancients knew this truth as well: that rituals of joy, even in mourning, protect the soul from falling into endless night. To smile, even through tears, is to declare that life remains, and that love, though wounded, is not extinguished.

The ancients often linked health to the harmony of spirit. In Greek thought, the concept of eudaimonia—a flourishing life—meant balance between body, mind, and soul. To sink too deeply into despair was to invite illness, both physical and spiritual. Thus, practices of joy were not frivolous, but necessary for survival. Yoko’s attempt to smile after unbearable loss echoes this same philosophy: that the gesture of joy, even if small, can realign the fractured soul and help restore the body to strength.

History gives us kindred examples. Consider Nelson Mandela, who endured decades of imprisonment. He spoke often of the power of maintaining dignity, laughter, and smiles, even in captivity. It was not denial of suffering, but an act of survival—keeping the spirit from being crushed. Likewise, Yoko’s attempt to smile for her health was not to erase grief but to guard her life against despair’s grip. For just as water keeps the body alive, joy—even in its smallest measure—keeps the spirit breathing.

There is also a lesson here about the power of choice. Grief often feels like a storm that cannot be resisted. Yet within it, Ono reminds us, lies a small, defiant freedom: the freedom to smile. It does not mean the sorrow is gone; it means the soul refuses to let sorrow claim everything. In that single act of defiance, she planted a seed of healing within herself. The ancients would have called this the courage of the heart: the ability to move forward not because the path is easy, but because life still calls.

The teaching is clear: sorrow will come to all, but the way through it is not to drown in grief alone, nor to reject it, but to balance it with acts of life. The smile is one such act. It calls the body toward health, the mind toward hope, and the spirit toward light. By smiling, even weakly, even through tears, we remind ourselves that healing is possible, and that we honor not only the memory of the dead but the responsibility of the living.

To practice this wisdom, allow yourself to grieve fully, but do not fear to seek moments of joy. Let yourself laugh again, let yourself smile even when it trembles. Go outside, breathe the air, let the world touch your senses. Remember that life is not only suffering; it is also resilience. By choosing to smile for your health, you choose to keep walking, and in doing so you honor both the life you lost and the life you still carry.

So remember, O seekers of tomorrow: in the shadow of grief, even the smallest smile is an act of courage. It is not betrayal of sorrow, but medicine for the soul. Yoko Ono teaches us that though love may be torn from us by death, the spirit can still rise, fragile yet unbroken, through the simple grace of a smile. And in that smile, life itself begins again.