A Reflection on Loss
It has been almost three years since the death of my mother. This was the first major loss-fueled storm of sorrow that I’ve had to weather in my life. With it, came many lessons and teachings, and paradoxically, the primary instruction has been one wrapped in mystery. Below is a short reflection on the idea of loss and privation being impossible to calculate, yet intangibly real. This is only a glimpse into the mysterious illumination that the Great Teacher has given me through grief.
A Reflection On Loss
How does one process loss? Loss is the absence of something, intangible by nature, yet it weighs on you as if it had substance. You feel it, and you see its effects, almost as if it were a material cause. Perhaps loss is more like the removal of a foundation, the taking away of the bottommost rock in a carefully stacked tower of stones.
Yet this still does not capture the loss of a person. See, when you remove a stone, you have a clear way to calculate the amount of stones that will fall and the general manner in which they will do so. When you lose a person, you are plunged into the waters of the unknown. It is completely "unscientific." We cannot measure grief. There is no scientific tool for quantifying the cause and effect nature of something so immaterial. You may know the cause of the sorrow, but what are the effects? And maybe this is what the grieving process is, slowly taking stock of the many facets of your life that will no longer be held up by this person.
Taking stock is only half of the journey though. Once you analyze what has fallen, then you have to come to terms with your new broken reality. You have to look at that messy pile of stones on the floor of your life and admit that this is your new experience, and that a good and loving God has desired it to be this way. This is the moment in which the great shift begins.
The sudden gasp of breath upon emerging from the floodwaters.
The rhythmic sway between death and life, darkness and light, suffering and flourishing.
The ringing of my Savior’s voice: “Blessed are those who mourn.”
The piercing clarity that somehow, even in life’s ugliest moments, there is Beauty.
Yes, this is unscientific. Yes, this is painful.
But.
It is good.