Loss can take form in many ways. Something important may have been lost – dreams, hopes, or love. Or we come to a fork, at a crux, which might mean letting go of something precious, something we think essential. And we mourn for this loss, a bereavement.
And the way we lose things can sometimes be heart-breakingly staggering, but there will be times when the sweet poignancy of the letting go is a fervent act. Nonetheless, we feel a pang of bereftness, a distinct sense of barrenness. And we are left in a quandary.
How does one fill up this hollowness? Do we ever get over this loss? Or are we ever meant to get over it?
When something abrupt is taken away or is lost, we are left stunned, disoriented, even angry. We try to act brave. We rationalize. We ask questions. We hold back tears through laughter that always sounds sad, a sob, a cry awkwardly camouflaged in mirth and gaiety.
We deal with losses. It is a fact of life. However, we never get used to it. A loss is always a blow. A loss is always painful.
And for every loss that we have to bear, every time we need to surrender an aspect of who we are, what we are, and what we have, we die a little bit more. But in this death is a promise of restoration.
And the way we lose things can sometimes be heart-breakingly staggering, but there will be times when the sweet poignancy of the letting go is a fervent act. Nonetheless, we feel a pang of bereftness, a distinct sense of barrenness. And we are left in a quandary.
How does one fill up this hollowness? Do we ever get over this loss? Or are we ever meant to get over it?
When something abrupt is taken away or is lost, we are left stunned, disoriented, even angry. We try to act brave. We rationalize. We ask questions. We hold back tears through laughter that always sounds sad, a sob, a cry awkwardly camouflaged in mirth and gaiety.
We deal with losses. It is a fact of life. However, we never get used to it. A loss is always a blow. A loss is always painful.
And for every loss that we have to bear, every time we need to surrender an aspect of who we are, what we are, and what we have, we die a little bit more. But in this death is a promise of restoration.
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