Loss

Sometimes when I read other blogs, I see beginnings or disclaimers up front.  Warning; you're about to read a {Enter adjective here} post.  Or This post is coming to you from a place of {enter feeling/emotion here} and I'm simply putting it all out there.  

So I guess this is mine:  I think you'd agree, loyal readers (humor me; I like pretending I have legions of fans!), many of my posts--specifically the ones not about food, because food posts are, well, foody!--have been fairly upbeat.  That's usually who I am.  It's who I strive to be, who I consciously chose to be.  In the case of my last post, I shared a side of me that I don't often expose; the part that overthinks, gets worried and allows dark stuff to ooze in where sunshine normally resides.

In a strange twist of timing, I shared that very post the evening before an unthinkable, yet somehow familiar in the most frightening way, took place at my former high school.  Yes, I graduated from Franklin Regional High School and yes, I was horrified to see my school showcased in such an awful way.  Later in the day, I would be uplifted to hear the stories of heroism that, thankfully, were also covered by local and national media alike.

The events of Wednesday morning and the hours and days that have followed, brought forth a lot of thoughts, questions, emotions and fears.  When I hug my daughter goodbye in the morning and tell her she's loved...I know that to be true.  When I tell her she's safe...I knew that to be true, and now I'm scared that it's not.      

And that makes me imagine the unimaginable--and try desperately to shake that runaway train of fear and grief that occupies my mind.  To date, none of those injured in Wednesday's attack have died--by the grace of God.  That does not mean, however, that there hasn't been tremendous, significant and real loss. 

Loss.  We’ve all experienced it.  It might have been the kind of loss that makes you smack your knee in frustration or the kind that drops you to your knees in total despair.  Loss doesn’t discriminate.  It doesn’t single people out based on behavior or attitude or any characteristic.  Many times, it doesn’t even have the common decency to warn you.

Loss is a word that doesn’t quite feel right in some situations.  Sometimes it feels more like something’s been ripped from you, against your will, despite all your strength.  Loss is too gentle a word to use in all scenarios.  And really, to say you’ve lost someone when they've died?  You didn’t lose them.  They aren’t lost; they’re dead.  Dramatic and final?  Sure, maybe.   But accurate, too.  Things can be lost.  Perspective can be lost.  Innocence, patience and yes, people.  All of this can be lost.  

The losing is not the thing.  Its’ the coping with the loss that really manifests itself in some tremendous emotional purge.  There are countless self-help books, websites and gurus out there to tell you how you should cope. Know what?  None of those have exactly the same words, the same theories, the same advice.  That’s because there’s no clearly-defined right or wrong.  It’d be great if there was, right?  Or a neatly mapped out handbook that offers very specific directions as to how to handle a particular loss.  “If you’ve lost a pet, turn to page 36, follow steps 1-19 and all will be well again.”  Yeah.  If only.

There’s not even a proper time frame for loss.  I mean, who’s to say that all your pain and tears come immediately after the loss occurs?  Case in point, Sunday will mark two years since my Grandfather passed away.  Certainly I cried many tears the day I learned of his death.  The day we said our final goodbyes.  I did.  And you know what?  I cried three weeks ago when I heard the sound of someone whistling in just the same way that Grandpa used to.  And I cried in November when I realized he wouldn’t be at our Thanksgiving table and he’d never meet the newest Great Grandchild I had just learned I was expecting.

It’s how you cope, right?  How you process your loss and address the feelings you’re feeling.  Tangible loss is just as difficult as that intangible loss.  Think of losing innocence when a young child has to learn of something horrific happening in this world.  Think of losing your security because something violent has taken place in a setting you took for granted as serene.  When something like that is lost---or taken, stolen, really---from you, how do you cope with that? 

When answers are far outnumbered by questions and those who normally provide answers are as confused and distraught as you are, how do you cope?  My Grandfather was 91 years old.  He had health issues.  His passing was a devastating relief and a peaceful sadness.  I could understand that.  I could cope with that.  It’s the senseless, the tragic, the unforeseen and the random losses that smack you in the face with a force so hard you are left both speechless and screaming for explanations.    

It's often said that you don't know what you've got until you lose it.  Maybe.  But maybe you do really appreciate what you have, making the loss that much more unbearable, suffocating, consuming.  I'm not even sure what's a better option; to be blissfully unaware of what you've lost, thereby eliminating both the pain and the joy of enjoying it in the first place or being so mindful, so aware that the loss hits you on a visceral level.  What do you think?

I could close with an admonition; a firmly, yet lovingly worded plea that we all hold our loved ones close.  We all try to be more patient and understanding.  We make a true effort to not be bothered by little things.  We all take stock and recognize what could be lost in an instant.  I could.  But I suspect that you already know all of that.  

So rather than tell you what to do, how about if we, instead, make a pact to simply do it.  And let's make sure that we keep doing it.  The memories of Wednesday's attack, of whatever loss you or someone you know has endured will begin to fade at some point---that's life.  But let's work on not letting the lessons and behaviors that emerge fade, too.