I sometimes feel like I think about death too much. Don't get me wrong; I'm alright. What I mean is, I think about death in the context of the effects of sudden absence and loss on those who survive it. I've lost enough people close to me to feel the familiar emptiness that death wreaks on a person. Even if you've never lost anyone close to you, you might have been there to support someone who has. In life, death is the one thing that equally affects us all.
It has a way of making the earth stop turning, yet at the same time it feels like life is moving too fast; you can't seem to catch your breath even though the world feels like it's moving in slow motion.
A couple months ago I lost someone I looked up to, a mentor, a friend. While our friendship grew fast, unbeknownst to me, it was also fleeting. We would never get to see Hamilton together or get lunch together again at the dining commons. But for the time I was given with them, I am eternally grateful. Every time someone I know passes or someone I'm close to loses a loved one, I am reminded of what it means to exist in this world. How we can't let the thought of life consume us, and how we should never be too busy planning out life to live it. We are only ever guaranteed this moment.
And that is terrifying.
It is a thought that we can easily ignore, or let slip through our focus. However, when grief comes again, I am reminded that we are here to live fully, not live fearfully. After her death, I didn't know these things, but I learned them over time. Grief comes when it may and when it strikes you're never sure what grief may look like. There is no "Five Stages," no wrong or right way to grieve. Grief can look like crying in the shower. It can be dressed as a sleepless night with a dry face, yet you still toss and turn. Grief can look like a sunny day and group hugs and laughter over beautiful memories. Or sometimes, it can be a memory that flits across your mind, stopping you in your tracks. It will come back, this hurt. It will visit you, but it takes a different form each time. Some times, the grief is disguised as a bittersweet memory that knocks on your mind. Other days it barges in, unannounced, no disguises this time; grief in its true, bare form. Both hurts, one stings however.
After my friend passed, I was sick with grief mixed with a pervading sense of worry. My thoughts would race and worry swelled up within me: Will everyone else that I love and care about die too?
The truth is yes, eventually. However, I pray it won't be soon. I hope, not like that.
Death is so painful for the living. I still haven't figured out how to make the hurt less. But I guess, that would be counterintuitive of a good life. As Ed Sheeran admits, "A heart that's broke is a heart that's been loved." As awful as it is, to love can sometimes mean to hurt.
As with all things in life, there is no way to prepare for this. No way to prevent it from hurting you. And, I am not sure that it will never not be painful. Because when you're alive, you love and you laugh, and the jarring abruptness of death is merely a side effect of living we have to come to terms with.
For those who have felt this or are currently in the midst of grief, I offer my condolences and warm thoughts. I am sorry. But I hope that you find comfort in knowing that you have loved and been loved in return.
