the idea of loss consumes me

notes on grief

*cover photo by Tomas Gonzalez de Rosenzweig on Unsplash*

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I'm still unpacking the significance of my recent trip to El Salvador and all the insights I gained. One of the most powerful messages came through a group reiki session my best friend led. There, under a starry sky so visible that it looked unreal, with the ocean's crashing waves as the soundtrack, she began doing her part to serve as a vessel in this act of energy healing. Much to my surprise, tears began falling from my eyes, refusing to stop and asking me to surrender to this moment and the emotions overpowering me. Amongst the crowded sky, one star caught my eye before the heavens opened up and delivered me a word I clearly needed to hear:

I'm so focused on what I've lost that it keeps me from living.

The idea of loss consumes me. My mind is constantly swimming with thoughts of who I've lost and how anyone else I care for could be added to that list at a moment's notice. Don't get me started on how much I think about my own death; I'm often nursing this feeling that my life is on the brink of ending, and if this sounds mentally taxing… you're right; it is. I don't know what it is, but life has felt particularly fragile lately. I think I’m long overdue to start approaching it in a new way. In the past, I engaged with my life like the fine china someone buys without the intention to use, so it sits on display for everyone to look at but not truly enjoy. But now, maybe I can try to acknowledge that “yes, it is fine china, but I’m still allowed to use it for what it was created for.” I won't be so afraid of it chipping or breaking into tiny shreds of nothingness that I tuck it away, collecting dust. I'll live knowing that chipping and breaking is always possible, but it's not the only possibility. What good is life if we don't permit ourselves to experience the beauty of it as much as we do the burdens?

Last night (Wednesday), I led the last session of the saddie baddies grief gathering for the year, where we did our version of "wrapped," reflecting on what our journey with loss has been like up to this point. The overall consensus was that 2023 can kick rocks and get to stepping. This year had some pretty exciting moments, but it also wrecked me in many ways I hadn't anticipated. Losing my grandfather and one of my best friends, both to cancer, within months of each other hadn't been on my bingo card. Yet, this is the card I have and the one I'm forced to continue playing, losses and all. I miss my grandpa. I miss his random calls. His over-excessive use of emojis. How he always made sure to say "love you babe.it's your grandpa" when he left voicemails as if I'd ever forget his voice. And I miss Justin, the boy I met when I was 18, and more than anything, I'm mad that his life seemed so brief. These were the type of heavy-hitting punches 2023 rolled out.

Though Grandpa and Justin couldn't have had two more different life experiences, I think about the one thing that connects them both: discovering a new appreciation for life amid their challenges. I remember talking to my grandpa, and he always told me, "I'm just going to live my life, babe, do whatever comes to me. Maybe I'll hop over there and see you in Mexico. Or maybe I'll just get in my car and drive. Who knows where I'll end up." There was a certain level of easefulness in my grandpa's voice that I almost felt jealous of. It was the voice of a man who knew just how unfair life could be but had realized how much of a gift it is, struggles and all. My grandpa never made it to Mexico, but I think he ended up wherever he was meant to be.

I've received recurring messages these past few days reiterating how dear life is. I mean, it's something I should know, considering my personal experiences, but there's something about suffering and grief that manages to make things difficult to see. I think about my twenties and how sometimes I feel like I lost them to the depths of depression and despair. I'll never get that time back, and instead of lamenting over that as I usually do, I want to use that as motivation to reclaim what time I have left, no matter how little.

I often think about legacies and how daunting they can seem once we've lost someone we care about. Sometimes, it feels like anything we conjure up falls short of honoring those who've entered the realm of ancestors. Every day, upon exiting my cozily decorated studio apartment, I see the faces of some of the people who mean the most to me. I smile when I see them, a picture worthy of a thousand words. There, on my door, is also a picture of my grandpa and Justin. With my grandpa, I'm probably no more than three years old. He still has hair; it's black, and he sports a downward-turning mustache and a barely-there beard. Long before the braids. Long before the baldie. Long before he greyed. Long before he sported his infamous bandana. I'm smiling into the camera, nervous but proud. With Justin, our hands are wrapped around one another, his face turned towards the left, presumably caught mid-laugh. I'll keep this image of him frozen in my mind for eternity. I had on his shorts and teeshirt, things I’m not really sure I ever returned. When I think about them both and their legacy, I imagine it would be to live my life while I still have a chance.

To stop waiting for a better time.

To stop waiting for more money.

To stop waiting for more validation

To stop waiting for other people.

To stop waiting because if I wait too long, it might pass me by.

As we enter this holiday season, I'm sending love to everyone grappling with loss of all sorts and shapes. I'm sending love to everyone still trying to figure out life on their terms. I'm sending love to everyone still trying to convince themselves that life is worth living. I'm sending love to everyone who thought they had it all figured out, only to realize they know nothing. I'm sending love to everyone waiting for the perfect moment to live their life, even though that moment may never arrive.

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✨This week's Flourish Finds✨

Here are some of the current things helping me flourish this week. Happy flourishing, friend!

Maddie Mortimer’s Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies is a book that demands you take your time with it. From the formatting to the author’s hypnotizing writing, you can’t rush it. In this morning’s read, I folded two pages back at the corners, a reminder to go back to the quotes that had grabbed my attention, making me ponder how they both really encompassed this whole life thing. Both the sweet moments and the times that gut you, making you wish you could just disappear. The author is in their late twenties, which makes me excited to read more writing from them in the future as they continue to grow in their craft.

You know, one bee only makes a twelfth of a teaspoon of honey his whole life.

Is that true?

Yes.

How do you know?

Iris told me.

Ah.

Anne smiled.

But the bee does not measure his life in teaspoons.

—Maddie Mortimer, Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies

I love a good remix of a song I already love. Leon Bridges’ music is something special. His 2021 album Gold-Diggers Sound is in constant rotation!

If you read this week’s essay, you know what Alexa has been blasting. I vividly remember posting FB statuses with excerpts of the lyrics from “Daughters” in my late teens. Yikes! It’s giving daddy issues, but pair it with some good tunes. Anyway, John Mayer is so talented, and after posting about it, I was shocked to see how many Black folks were pulling into my DM’s to tell me how much they love John!

seasons change

Speaking of, “Seasons Change” from the Black Panther soundtrack is still a banger.

my thursday tea talking to me.

A girl can become translucent, she thought,

as she turned the key to the shed,

when pain replaces the proteins in her skin;

the soul has no choice but to reflect

little to no love.

—Maddie Mortimer, Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies

Alexa, play “Flowers” by Miley Cyrus

a good word. im still learning to be patient.

Whew, this 👇🏾👇🏾👇🏾

How swiftly the strained honey
of afternoon light
flows into darkness

and the closed bud shrugs off
its special mystery
in order to break into blossom:

as if what exists, exists
so that it can be lost
and become precious.

—Lisel Mueller, In Passing

and another one!

It is heartbreaking enough that we do lose everything that exists, everything and everyone we love, until we lose life itself — for we are a function of a universe in which it cannot be otherwise. But it is our singular human-made heartbreak that we often cope with our terror of loss — that deepest awareness of our own mortality — by losing sight of just how precious we are to each other, squandering in less-than-love the chance-miracle of our time alive together, only to recover our vision when entropy has taken its toll, when it is too late.

—Maria Popova, The Marginalian

Thank you for being in community with me and supporting me on this journey.❤️