In the midst of a loss, it’s very easy to see what’s being taken and difficult to see what’s being given.
In my life, I understood that every family will experience loss, but I thought surely my family would not experience an inordinate amount. I believed the fantasy formula stating that if we didn’t harm people and did our best to support others, we would likely be immune to significant loss. I also enjoyed the illusion that maybe, just maybe, my love could make a relationship permanent—I mean, just this one lifetime.
Well, I have three daughters. One died two days after her birth. Another was born with a serious neurological disability impairing both fine and gross motor skills. It took time for me to see Sarah beyond the shroud of ableism. The voice of “She and I deserve more” is almost completely silent now. Sarah recently turned 51, and I am asked to be with the courage, simplicity, and love she brings. My third daughter has been estranged from the family for over 25 years. My daughters continue to teach me about loss. One no longer on the planet, another somewhere distant from home, and one showing me how to gently embrace uniqueness.
Dreams Die Hard
The loss of anyone or anything we cherish is painful. Loss often means we end as someone’s parent, sibling, or spouse. We create a life, a meaningful life, with someone we love. This person now only lives in our memory. We can’t touch them, hold them, or see them in the countless ways they touched us. Our sorrow deepens as we let go of the life we would have created. We are asked to make peace with what was and what might have been. Our dreams carry our hopes and our longings, which turn a single day into a lifetime—a lifetime that can be taken away in an instant.
Creating a Relationship With Loss
If we’re honest, most of us don’t want a relationship with loss. We simply want it to go away. However, go away, it won’t. Life is about change. Nothing is permanent, no matter how much we’d like it to be. Hence, to be alive is to experience change and the inherent loss that accompanies it.
When we insist upon not having a relationship with loss, we can only react to loss. We react positively to a favorable loss, and we protest or feel victimized by some unwanted loss. The other option is to create a relationship with loss. Maybe one that allows for more ease and resiliency.
Here are some possible elements of a working relationship with loss:
- Acceptance. Upon close examination, acceptance seems like the only viable option because not accepting loss does nothing. Loss just keeps on rolling as we stand there and yell, “I don’t accept you!” There’s something honest and humble about accepting loss as an essential part of life. Honesty is the admittance that we can’t stop loss from happening, and it’s also a humble acknowledgment of life’s immensity.
- Living on life’s terms. Acceptance doesn’t simply happen because we say that’s what we’re going to do. We practice acceptance a day at a time, and it might mean getting stuck in non-acceptance for a while. Over time, our acceptance can deepen, bringing us into a deeper relationship with life. With a measure of awe and wonder, we bow to life’s immensity, willing to live mostly on life’s terms, which include being mysterious, unpredictable, and insecure. Occasionally, there will be an opportunity to exercise our wills and make something happen.
- Allowing grief. Grief allows us to maintain our relationship with life in the midst of loss. Grief is the voice of your broken heart. Allow your broken heart to speak its fire (anger, indignation, and feelings of betrayal) and its water (lamentation, sorrow, and sadness). If you suppress your fire and water, pools of stagnant water will extinguish the fire of your spirit. Your spirit can wither in the decay of resentment. Both life and your own soul remain strangers to you. Let your broken heart have a voice. It may be tempting to curse the gods for stealing who or what you love. Your broken heart will speak of the tenderness it surprisingly received and will not forget. Let the brokenness be an outpouring of the closeness you allowed, a closeness sitting at the edge of now and eternity.
- Getting closer. Who would ever want to get closer to loss? The option may be crazier, running away from like and its dark side—loss. If you want to make peace with life, then getting closer to loss is a great way to do it. Moving closer to loss means generating as much acceptance of it as possible, which will grow over time. And being curious by wondering what loss is asking for. When I’m curious, I hear: “Be willing to know me, the dark side of life. Learn how you can best serve, especially those experiencing loss. Honor kindness. Grieve. Protest loss less.”
- Asking, “What is given?” I’m embarrassed to say that I believed loss only took something. I’ve discovered that loss gives a great deal. Loss is the herald of the sacred. An old definition of the word sacred is “confirming what truly matters.” We all get distracted, losing sight of what truly matters. We get caught up in a variety of glamorous spectacles. We bring attention to those swarming to our social media posts and try to establish a brand that truly impresses. Loss calls us back to what truly matters. Loss also helps curb my hubris, reminding me how little I can control. Loss connects me to others regardless of how different we are.
Living life on life’s terms means deciding to have an honest relationship with loss. One where we acknowledge that loss is inevitable, and you don’t have to view it as only unfortunate. Then, allowing for an armistice with loss through ever-deepening levels of acceptance. When the tension between you and life subsides, you and life are at peace. Learning and creating become robust, which could not have happened in a war zone.
