Loss

When loss comes, it is often unexpected, immediate and heartbreaking. The most distinguishable form of loss is death, losing someone who you love unexpectedly.

When I was much younger, my grandfather was my favorite person. My most cherished memories from that time in my life are from adventures spent with him, at his house, in his arms. I remember being curled up on him watching Bonanza and inhaling the scent of his cigar. Sitting in his lap as the tractor chugged down the back five. Proudly holding my sap-sticky hands up to him after I had spent hours climbing in the pine trees that bordered the house. He died when I was 11. Even if my parents knew it was coming, for me it was unexpected, immediate and heartbreaking. I remember feeling like my world was ending. According to my mom, she saw a distinct change in me after that. A part of me just wasn’t able to recover from the loss of him.

But loss isn’t always so immediate. Sometimes it happens over time. A friendship or love that is slowly extinguished, sometimes so slowly that it’s impossible to see it happening until it’s too late. The pain and the anguish aren’t any less. It just took longer for them to build and for the realization they were present.

It is in many of us to desire to protect ourselves from the pain that comes from extreme loss. What do you do when your heart has been broken, and in a moment of acute anger, you swear to the gods that you refuse to ever expose yourself to that type of loss again. You make this pact in a moment of extreme pain. It comes from a place of darkness, fear, self doubt, tears. A location where little forgiveness for oneself or the offender is found.

But this level of protectionism can’t be maintained if one wants open oneself up to the possibilities that might be, can it? The bonds of the pact have to be broken. It’s the only way to open oneself up to the possibility and promise of future passion, friendship, partnership. This is easier said than done though. There is that small voice of responsibility reminding one of the original pact made. Silencing this voice can be an obstacle, one that at times seems insurmountable.

I find my rationale and emotion dueling between trying to protect myself from possible heartbreak and wanting to be open to the possibilities that may be. I’m hesitant to be the first one to say the things I want to say. I want to be fearless, but I’m reluctant to be the first to take the risk.

All I can do is fight the desire to protect myself and open myself to what will come. Perhaps the gods demand a payment of some pain, reluctance, loss in order for one to fully embrace and appreciate extreme joy, love, happiness. Perhaps I had to feel the pain of one loss to find the joy in the moments that lie ahead. Perhaps the extreme contrasts make the moments of joy I experience now that much sweeter. Maybe it is a lesson to appreciate the now, to prevent me from losing sight of what is cricital to my life, to be aware of my actions and to make course corrections when needed.

Or maybe it's just too much to worry about it all. Maybe it's better to believe that the past is the past. It cannot be altered. To know that regrets are wasted on the present. And the future is the future. You can't force a conclusion or a desired outcome. You can only make decisions for the present. You can hope, but can't control anything beyond the moment you're standing in now. So while the loss of the past occurred, it's the past. I can't change it. My life will be richer if I live unabashedly, passionately in the now, keeping myself open to what lies in the next moments.