Is Life Nothing More Than A Series Of Losses?
To be human is to suffer. Some suffer more than others and some less. I sometimes cannot help but see life as nothing more than a series of losses. Most losses are predictable. Even predictable losses can be devastating and sometimes death can bring solace when it ends suffering.
When we are children, usually our first profound loss is the knowledge that not everything can be fixed. Sometimes a “boo boo” is not quickly healed with a kiss and a bandaid. We start to realize that our parents are not perfect and are not superheroes who can do no wrong and can right all wrongs. We painfully learn that life is not always fair, rules can be broken, and wrongdoers aren’t always punished just as good deeds aren’t always rewarded.
As we mature we discover losses of heartbreak and failure and we are taught that those are part of growing up. We may not appreciate those losses but accept them as rights of passage.
Then as we enter adulthood we are imbued with the knowledge that our parents will die before us and we have probably already experienced the death of our grandparents. Again, while these losses while profound, they too are acceptable.
We are not prepared for unexpected loss. We are not taught to anticipate the unpredictability of life. Life is tenuous and fragile. While so much usually goes right, so much can and does go wrong.
We are told that if we work hard, take care of others, and show kindness and generosity, we will be secure and happy. Do everything right and nothing will go wrong. Oh if only… What is the explanation for tragic and sudden death? What is the explanation for childhood cancer? What is the explanation for natural disasters (I know, climate change) and freak accidents? Why are good people alone and struggling? Why are some children born into abject poverty and abuse while others have every privilege afforded to them?
To pretend that I have suffered more than others would be living a lie. That does not lessen my injury or provide comfort. My youngest daughter suddenly died before she turned 20. I have been in the depths of despair. I no longer wished to be in this life. How cruel to outlive your child — the torture of breathing when your child is no longer able to. I didn’t even want to be in my own body because it had betrayed me by staying alive. I felt like I had died too, just nobody noticed. This loss is out of order, it is against the rules, it is unfair, it is grievous. I have lost more than many but less than some.
So now, at age 58, I finally understand that everything is random. Yet, we have to live our lives as if it were not so. Otherwise, we would just give up. Life would be pointless. I’m struggling to find meaning and purpose because I’m cruelly aware that everything can disappear in a flash.
What is worse I sometimes wonder: the shock of what happened or the knowledge of what will never be. The latter, I think… All the beautiful milestones stolen from my daughter and our family will continue to hurt with the passing of every year, even longer for her sisters as they will, I pray, outlive me.
So where to go from here? It’s been 19 months since my daughter died. In that time my husband and I moved to another state, from a house in the suburbs to an apartment in the city. While there is no escape from our sadness there is a therapeutic distance from the unrelenting in-your-face triggers. Some people need routine and familiarity, but I desperately needed change. Because nothing will ever be the same, staying in the home where we raised our three beautiful daughters would be for me torture. It would be a constant reminder that my daughter would never return to our home.
I’m still trying to figure things out. I feel like I’m learning to walk again. I’m trying to figure out how to navigate this new life. Only I can find what is meaningful to me. Trying to find meaning while sustaining the love I have for my daughter is tricky. Finding meaning means I’m moving forward. I tell myself that it is okay to move forward even though my daughter can’t. It is not a betrayal, it is the exact opposite. It is honoring her life. To waste years that she was not able to have will not bring her back. I know that isn’t what she would wish for me.
Even thinking about moving forward is progress for me. The best way for me to do it is to take the focus off of myself. I’m trying not to get stuck on how things were or how they are supposed to be. Doing that will block the integration of grief into my “new” life. Allowing space for the new while honoring my feelings of loss is a difficult balance but it will help me look toward the future rather than staying stuck in the past. So while I won’t stop longing for what can no longer be, I will stop comparing it to what is. I can’t change the past but I can work toward the future. A different life from the one I had planned, not better, just an adjustment to what is, not what isn’t.
