Since taking over this microbiology class a few weeks ago, I've been lucky to be home by midnight each night due to special circumstance. A particular young lady who has now had me three times as her professor approached me, aware of the fact that I lost all my grandparents this spring term, to talk about a tragic loss in her immediate family. We talked, mostly just to pass the time, because I know there's nothing to say. People tell you lies about grief, and people don't like to talk about it, but she knows that I can empathize at least a little with her, and so for a few hours a week she feels like she's not alone.
Everyone grieves in their own way and for the time that it takes to recover from tragedy. There is no magical formula or date by which you are supposed to be ok, and so I told her that it will take as long as it takes and that she shouldn't let anyone make her feel guilty for feeling pain. Her father and brother are choosing to ignore it, and by and large that's what I did, filling my days so full of work and exercise so that little time remained for pain. I don't know what will help her, and neither does she, so when she came Thursday night and told me that she'd had a bad day I told her that would happen. We miss the lost. We loved them. Part of us died when they left too.
The only balm I can really offer to her and to anyone else grieving is that eventually you miss the lost less and feel the pain less frequently. Now that more than two years have passed since my friend was murdered and a woman about whom I cared deeply cut all ties, it is easier to bear. I still think about them and mourn their loss, but now I forget about them long enough to forget why I need to. I think about them and weep for them, but it doesn't come as often or last as long. Other things compete for my attention and affection too. Friday my mom reported that her parents house may sell, closing forever a chapter in my life and taking away the only real home I ever knew. I no longer have a reason to get off the freeway in that city except to visit their graves. When I do, I will miss them, mourn them, and weep for them because I love them. Then I will get back in the car and move forward.
I think the ability to weep for the lost makes us more human and stronger humans than the stoics who rigidly resist the urge to let their emotions free. If we hurt at the loss of someone else, it means we learned to care about and for someone other than ourselves. Particularly in Vegas, most people seem shallow, self-centered, and narcissistic, and so I don't know if they're worth getting to know, and if I ever leave this town, I won't miss most of the people. Though we adore them individually, we agree that as a rule they're rather stupid. However, those we loved and lost are never really lost to us. We keep them alive in our memories.
Sometimes when we miss the lost, the only thing that helps is to know we're not alone in our grief. I can't really help this student besides let her know that I'm there and that I can empathize. Each situation is unique, so I can't really understand, but I can feel for her. I know the pain of loss, of family, of friends, and of romance. For her part, Tracie was a good friend, and I wish I'd been a better friend to her. I miss a particular geautiful birl almost every day because nobody treated me as well as she or seemed to care as much about my happiness as she did (besides my parents). I miss my grandparents because they were cheerleaders, and how I wish I had been able to give them good news while they yet lived that I'd found a wow woman to marry or finally been given the vocational opportunity I deserve. I hope that all of these people know that I really meant it, that I appreciated them, and that I miss them. This November, I am particularly grateful for what remains and for the chance to see that I really knew how to love before the last petal of my life fell.
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