About Loss

The day that Dave's dog died, I cried.  And cried.  I didn't even know Dave's dog and, although I love Dave as I do all the quality people I know, I am a not intimate friend with him.  I cried for selfish reasons.

I cried to remember my mom's death, nearly a year ago.  I cried to remember our dog Cassidy's death, more than two years ago.  I cried to think of the day when I will lose our current furry friends.  I cried because to lose a companion is to have your heart break.

It makes me think of mortality.  Mine, my husband's, my friends' (furry and otherwise), my family.  Although I know that death is a natural part of the circle of life, it doesn't make it any less gut wrenching. Knowing is not experiencing.

I don't live in fear of death, but in awe of the capacity of the heart.  With each loss, a gaping hole seems to be torn in the fabric of one's life.  There is resistance to let love and care for another in again.  There is fear of more hurt, more torment, more loss.  And yet, the heart yearns for more love.  There will be another dog, another cat, another friend, not a replacement, but another chance to let your heart expand.  Another chance to learn a being's nature, to embrace it and feel the joy of knowing.

This is the nature of love.  To be renewed, regenerated, redirected.  For every loss, there will be an unexpected gift.  For every heart ache, there will be a joy.   For every time that the world seems black and unlivable, there will be a time when clarity and beauty burst forth.

The trick then, the key, is balance.  Feel the pain, but look for and embrace the joy.  See the bleak, the ugly, but seek out and recognize the beauty.

For life is always and only what we make of it.