Sometimes you don’t want them to, but things end. All the platitudes people hand you, the sorrow they all feel for your loss, that mysterious window they say is opening somewhere else, and that better place where they tell you others have gone, probably don’t help very much. Death is change, and change is death, so whichever one visits you, you experience them both. There are no shortcuts, no magic words, no external comforts of any kind that will help very much. For the rest of your days, there will be a hole, and no matter how hard you try, you may never fill it.
Tell Me a Story
Luckily, for the most part, we all have very poor recall. We remember stories, not actual emotions. So, as time passes, the hole becomes more shallow as we slowly forget the depth of the real experience, replacing it with the stories we tell ourselves about it. Eventually, our real memories are so weak that the stories almost feel like they are about someone else, almost. Forgetting is another little death in itself, one that lets us move on.
So things end; then, over time, our experience of them ends, too, leaving only stories and shallow memories. I guess that sounds sad, but it’s not. It just means we are alive. Don’t wish away the pain. Instead, slow down and carefully embrace it, fully experiencing it before it too is gone.