We all suffer loss. It’s a part of life. There is no avoiding it. Some losses are simple, like having your scoop of ice cream fall from your cone. But some losses run so deep, are so heart breaking, and gut wrenching, you feel like you can’t breathe and are certain you’ve forgotten how. And there is no ‘this is exactly what that kind of loss looks like’! It could be anything. It could be the loss of your job or home. The death of a loved one, a friend, a family member, pet, or a partner. Or it could be the loss of your own innocence or security at the hands of a traumatic event.
It can suddenly feel like this giant piece of you is missing, and all is wrong with the world. It can feel strange that everyone seems to be moving forward and fine, and they can’t see that obviously missing giant piece. It can feel as though it’s wrong for you to be living, going to work, eating, drinking… but you know you must do it to survive, so you do. And then, it can feel awful for having a reason to laugh or smile again.
And so, not just your brain, but your heart and soul try to drown you in the ocean of denial. Everything you do reminds you of them somehow. Every movement feels like a strain, including breathing, and just being, trying to stay afloat. Denial surrounds you like a heavy blanket you can’t get out from under. You think if you stay still, you can get lost in the belief that nothing has changed. Perhaps you can stretch your imagination to believe the strong sensation pulling you down is the loss attempting to stay with you. Perhaps being there and staying there will keep you safe. It’s a strong rebellion against moving forward. The world isn’t the same. It never will be the same. It convinces you it’s not worth exploring and getting to know again because what you’ve lost is better than anything that could ever be.
But sooner or later, you exhaust yourself and can no longer keep your head above the water. You can’t swim forever and you need to get back on land. Welcome to the sands of anger. The sand is hot and gets into every crevice and fold of your skin. It’s uncomfortable and you want desperately just to feel normal again. But unanswerable questions consume your thoughts; why me, why them, why now, what did you do wrong, what did they do wrong, how could it have been prevented, what could’ve been done differently, etc. The questions anger you even more when you’re not able to find any answers. So you just keep walking. Despite the discomfort from the hot sand sticking to your body, you keep walking.
Until you must finally rest because your body forces you to. Your legs are about to give out, and your brain is shutting down from exhaustion. So you rest at the edge of the beach. You start haggling with the universe to bring you back to life as you knew it before. To bring your loss back, and you don’t care how. The skies open up and you scream at the top of your lungs as rain washes the hot sand off of you. You offer, or threaten, your health, your well being, your life to just have them back. Anything. But deep down, you know there is nothing that can be done. They’re gone.
That realization cripples you. You fall to your knees, feeling the earth beneath you when all you wish is to keep falling. You’re aware you can breathe, think, eat, but none of it matters. You simply want the deep dark cover of sleep because then at least, you can dream of life before, a life where the loss never occurred in the first place. Sleep is the only thing that feels ok. Not good, but ok. What doesn’t feel good or ok at all, is rejoining the world that exists beyond sleep and the safe space you’ve carved out for yourself. Trying to navigate a world you once knew, but seemed lighter, friendlier and more peaceful before. Now it just feels dark, scary, no longer worthy of your attention.
But somehow, someday, after some time, you’ll see light again. It won’t seem so scary. Perhaps some form of love will bring the worlds worthiness to your attention again. Perhaps it will fill your empty feeling heart with just enough hope, love, faith, or reason, to get up and start moving again. It might be the memory of what you lost. It might be someone who loves you, or it might just be that you know you deserve better than wallowing in despair. And somehow, you will remember to breathe again without having to think, or it feeling arduous or tiring. Somehow, you will smile a genuine smile, hoping to make someone else’s day brighter. Someday, you will laugh at something really funny, and though you might think of your loss, it will be in fond memory, no longer clouded with guilt or shame.
Loss is a part of life. There’s no avoiding it. And some hurts never heal. But if loss is the price to pay so we can love, I’m in. It’s not feasible or realistic to believe we can always be happy anyway. That we can feel good all the time, as hard as we may try. It’s a yin and yang. It’s a balance. We have to accept both the negative and positive. And I know, I run on love. It’s my fuel. I could never live without it. But how would I know what love is, if I didn’t know what it was to lose it? They say, it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Perhaps they are right. But it still really fucking hurts.
Note: Recently, a lovely woman I knew years ago was taken from her family very suddenly. It’s tragic and the light of the world has dimmed to be sure. She was an extremely kind and loving person who made the world a better place just by being in it. It seems so strange and unfair. One minute, she was awaiting the next big adventure, becoming a mother, after years of nurturing and cultivating a deep and unconditional love with her husband. And then, poof, she was gone. I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering down the path of imagining it was my own husband I’d lost. I immediately burst into tears and couldn’t stop. My heart felt dark and heavy. I wanted to call her husband and express my condolences. But I knew he didn’t need my feelings thrown at his feet. He didn’t need me to tell him how sad I was for him and his daughter (and the rest of the friends and family, of course). And besides, how does one express how one truly feels without using the cliche and over-used phrases? What more could I offer? Thankfully, he’d made it known he had support and love, and I was glad of that. I didn’t want to complicate things so, I did as I do. I wrote. This is for him, and his new daughter. I wish you nothing but happiness and health, despite the tragic beginnings to your beautiful family. Much love. B
Ⓒ August 2022. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.
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