Let's Get Through Loss Together
Finding Solace in a (Seemingly) Indifferent Universe
I often look up at the night sky, thinking about how the stars look like magic. Yet, beyond the soft blues of twilight lies the unimaginable darkness of space. The universe is a chaotic, unfathomable place. Asteroids streak through the void, planets collide, and entire galaxies crash into one another. Amidst this cosmic turmoil, the universe adheres to its own strict physical laws, seemingly indifferent to the suffering it causes. Stars are born and stars die—cosmic truths, not magic, that become evident no matter where a telescope is pointed. Death happens, and it’s a miracle any of us have the strength to get out of bed each morning, knowing this simple, immutable fact.
Is it any wonder then that I told my therapist recently that I only have dread for the future? (Pauses for uncomfortable laughter.) I know, this isn't the most uplifting way to kick off my newsletter, but bear with me. Lately, I’ve been feeling down for various reasons—my brain's chemical makeup, the state of the world, my family. If I open Instagram, I’m sure I’ll find more. But the family piece, in particular, weighs heavily right now because they are and have always been everything to me.
I'm the youngest grandson in my family, and recently, it's been hitting me that my parents, aunts, and uncles are all getting older. Phone calls with relatives have become more about health updates and sharing worries. With some of them, the grim reaper seems to be lurking under the guise of incurable, terminal disease.
And I think to myself, “I can’t do this.” I can’t watch them go.
One of my grandmothers passed away when I was 14, and I am as sad today thinking about the loss of her as I was the day she left. Amidst the sunshine, this sadness hangs like a cloud over big moments in life like graduations and birthdays that she’s missed, and small moments when I just want to call her to hear her voice or feel her hug again. Maybe these small moments are actually the big moments because I wish I had them the most. Regardless, the pain that never goes away is this overwhelming feeling that I’ve never found a place to put all the love I have for her. People give well-meaning advice about what to do with that love, like “just love those closest to you harder,” but it’s not the same. That love was for her, and the love she had was for me. I've chased that connection all my life. I am gently told over and over again, “this is grief.”
Grief, then, under this entirely nonclinical definition, is both the overwhelming burden of carrying the sadness of missing someone and the inability to channel this specific love you have for them into anything or anyone else. The universe, again, is cruel to dole this upon us when we have already suffered enough through their loss.
I don’t know where to put all this love when more of my family members depart. My heart is heavy enough; how am I going to carry the love I have for them when they’re gone, too? Family has always been central to my identity. Without Christmases, Thanksgivings, and summer holidays together, I struggle to understand who I am. How do I navigate life without them? How will I ever go forward when I become so weighed down by this grief?
Since that therapy appointment, I’ve been thinking about how maybe I’m looking at it all wrong. What a miserable thought that we are all trapped in this harsh universe that exists under strict laws of physics, indifferent to our loss, to our suffering. But with that thought came an epiphany: we’re not trapped in the universe; we are part of it. The universe encompasses, well, everything. Every single thing, right down to the atoms that make each of us up and the energy that holds it all together. Then, aren’t our feelings, memories, and love itself at their most basic properties energy? Of course they are. We are the universe, and to each of us, love is what holds it all together. Perhaps then the universe is not so unforgiving, and through us, the universe expresses its compassion and its ability to hold onto love.
And this grief—the weight I feel in my heavy heart—is maybe better interpreted as storage for all the love I have for people because love, like all energy, cannot be destroyed. It is mine to hold onto, to get me through the loss of someone I care deeply about, and to continue to get me through the rest of my life. Not something so heavy that I can’t move forward. Maybe there is some magic to it all yet.
I still, admittedly, dread the future, but I’m learning it’s a blessing to have so much love to hold onto, and that helps me dread it just a little less. And most importantly, I can’t let it stop me from loving the people who are still here with us as hard as I can while I can. And when people go, and the inevitable and unavoidable pain hits, I will gently welcome carrying a heavier heart instead of trying to figure out what to do with the added weight, for it is just filled with more love that is mine to hold on to, to celebrate their memories, to help remind me that the universe is only cold and unforgiving if it does not have us continuing to fill it with love. And at the end of my life, may my heart’s last beat be its own Big Bang, and fill every bit of space between the stars with all the love I carried.
Let’s Get Through (the rest of) This Together:
Music I'm Loving:
Birds of a Feather by Billie Eilish inspired this piece. The opening line "I want you to stay" makes me tear up, and I think of everyone I’ve loved and lost each time. Music has a unique way of connecting us to our emotions and memories, helping us process grief and find solace. I encourage you to find a song that speaks to your heart and allows you to feel and release some of the emotions you’ve been holding onto.
Books I'm Enjoying:
Jane Eyre was one of my favorite books growing up, and I’m rereading it now. Books have always helped me to step out of my own life and into the shoes of someone else’s, and I’m excited to revisit one of my favorite stories.
A Dash of Hope:
Leave a comment for the next person. Maybe you have insight you can share with someone else reading this piece. Feel free to leave your kind, respectful comments below.
As Always, a Photo of Oscar:
PS
If you enjoyed today’s newsletter, help spread the word by sharing directly or clicking the link below to post on social.
And if you’re not subscribed yet, please subscribe below! Thank you for reading! As always, let’s get through this together.