Somehow, we go on living.
It seems surreal that we must go on with our lives after massive tragedies.
It’s ridiculous that we must continue making our deadlines, baffling to be sitting in traffic, indecent to be climbing a StairMaster, eating a chocolate bar, or writing articles online. Anything normal seems incomprehensible when people drop from buildings to escape masked gunman, when children open fire on each other at school, when bombs explode on marathon runners reaching the finish line, and when tumors take over the minds and bodies of our childhood friends. Somehow, we go on living.
When death takes one of us away, the loss creates a hole, an absence that is so tangible, so present, it takes us space. We can give this loss energy for a while, and feel the loneliness of it, the weight of it, the depth and breadth of it. However, it is our duty to climb out of loss, and allow it to help us. We must allow death to be a catalyst for change.
Death and loss are teachers.
Death and loss help us understand that life is full of beauty in its brevity. The warmth, the stories, the teary-eyed laughter, the exhilaration of the new, the stillness of the old, all these moments have happened before, and they are still happening now. It is our duty to collect and feed these moments, and use them for good. Our departed friends left us sparks, and we must turn them into fireworks by connecting with others, creating a crescendo of reciprocal interactions.
The inevitability of life’s end teaches us that we must choreograph significance into each moment, for the spirits that illuminate our lives dance and sing in these partnerships.
Together, we thrive.
