If being lost means the inability to find one’s way or to miss something that cannot be recovered, then the death of a friend makes us disoriented and adrift.
If being lost means the inability to find one’s way or to miss something that cannot be recovered, then the death of a friend makes us disoriented and adrift.
“I don’t know if my words could ever ease your pain,” Julie Yip-Williams writes in a letter to her two daughters. “But I would be remiss if I did not try.”
The strangeness of death, of loss, is that no matter how many books we read, how many philosophical discussions we have, how many psychologists we speak with, how many times we experience it, it will always be elusive—impossible to understand.
Human emotions are intense and, sometimes, incredibly painful. To avoid that hurt, we seek to escape into distraction to “take our mind off everything.” That's a mistake.
“During the course of a lifetime, virtually no one can avoid an encounter with death. Yet it is an experience for which one is rarely prepared.” — Dr. Emanuel Rackman
Blaming someone for their pain—whether that's grief or some kind of interpersonal violence—is our go-to mechanism. How quick are we to demonize rather than empathize. How quick we are to move into debate, rather than hang out in the actual pain of the situation.
It is Jerusalem, once a mother rejoicing with her children, who is grief-stricken, struggling to grasp the elusive understanding of loss. But she does not grieve alone.