I thought I was getting the hang of losing people but this last one has thrown me for a loop again. I couldn't figure out why I wasn't taking it like a champ. Hadn't I done this enough? Haven't I written about lost loved ones, walked miles in sunlit contemplation of my relationships with the deceased, and learned to ride the the Kubler Ross wave like fekking Aquaman? Hadn't I become proficient in grief and moving on?
But, what I'm realising is, no matter how much you lose, each loss is a new loss.
Yes, I remember this grief feeling acutely. The muscles that I flexed and pulled as I agonised over the last death are still there. They are familiar. But with each death they contract and loosen anew. They strain and pull in their own unique rhythm. Sometimes the pain is a passing cramp. Other times it's a malingering (a malign lingering feeling) ache that intensifies or eases depending on stimuli and time.
But it doesn't get easier. Each death compounds the feeling of futility, confusion, fear and isolation.
What I'm realising is that unlike a skill or even some romantic relationships, death doesn't present you with a one to one equation (what's the best way to get over a man?...). When you lose a loved one that person and what they represent to your life can't be replaced. You'll always have the memories. The only thing you lose is the option for more. Their memories, their lessons, still linger. And, their death is the catalyst that calcifies and hardens those memories into weighted grief.
No one likes to lose. It's a selfish (and perfectly human) terror induced feeling of being robbed. And grief robs us of the opportunity to continue to shape and change our memories and experiences with that person. And the amount of experiences you had with them seems to directly correspond to the heft of what's left behind.
And, as lovely as it is to hold on to memories, they also come with a slap in the face from Mortality. That bitch wants your attention and her heavy kiln-like ass sits on your memories and compresses them until they turn into a heavy jagged boulder.
"Hey... Guess what?...You're going to die just like them," she whispers. "Oh, and when you do, people will grieve... but they'll move on."
Suddenly, you realise that you're going to die just like them. And, perhaps, someone will go through this existential, etherial muscle ache. But it won't bring you back. Each loss is stacked in front of you to lift and carry. And that weight you can drag, fling or carry as you attempt to jog, walk or crawl towards the oncoming inevitable finish line.
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| Get your grief lifting gear on |
"You are not immortal. You will die and that knowledge is the last gift they gave you," Mortality coos, licking her lips, as she piles on another dead friend's loaded memory.
So, no matter how much you do it, no matter how well you understand the grieving process, it doesn't negate the hard work of getting up every morning and lifting the new loss and learning to walk with it, day after day. Like a macabre bodybuilder, you can only equip yourself for the weight training process and keep trying until you can lift it or become inured to the weight and be crushed.
Recommended training regime:
Week 1 (every day): 3 x 60 min naps, 30 tear baths, 1 bowl of soup, 10 foetal position curls.
Week 2 (every day): 3 x 30 min naps, 20 tear baths, 1 bowl of soup, 2 x bread rolls, 5 foetal position curls, 1 walk in park, 1 call with friends
Weeks 3 & 4 (4 days): 1 x 30 min naps, 5 tear baths, 1 full meal, coffee, 1 foetal position curl, 2 walks in park, 1 trip to shops, 1 visit with friend
"Great job! See you soon," Mortality cackles as she hops on her chopper made out of bones and rides to a nearby diner.
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| Of course Mortality rides a chopper |
