Last words.
You can only stare at the words for so long. I replayed the messages over and over in my head…I saw them, I read them, re-read them, I heard their voices and let them sing to me…although, they were mixed really…both singing and too loud to listen to…this weird self-scream thing that kept holding onto that space.
I suppose it was because I knew the conversation was over…while really knowing that our conversation was not ever going to be over. Ever.
I think this is what makes death so difficult. Now certainly I’m referring to real death as well, but I am also talking about the death to parts of us. As psychological beings when we create an image, a fantasy, a potential “maybe” or future self that we could be or how life could be, we have to make room for it. Our head builds images of what it would be like as we plan our futures…our bodies build muscle to carry the weight of life and our heart builds the love…the currency needed to pay for admission to what could be.
This construction and movement within who we are/could be builds from the core of all that we are. Maybe you were supposed to be a doctor but your grades sucked. Perhaps you were supposed to run off with them but they’ve already left. Maybe you were supposed to say, “I’m sorry” but lost them before you could. When this happens, those parts of us die, but more, the opportunity or chance to do this is lost...in some ways even more painful. Then...it happens, again.
This is why loss is so hard. When we lose someone or something that we built ourselves for, those things that we built must die, as well, and we lose the potential of what could have been. This means that something you held onto tightly is both warming and painful…hmph…yet another price of admission.
Last words don’t really exist because these things live on in us and visit. A passing sign, a song, a funny scarf, ceramic piece or random comic book shield could conjure up all that was. That is the cycle. This process of life and death, death and rebirth that springs joy and sorrow in this almost never ending rotation, ultimately leading you to a greater version of who are because of how you have chosen to move forward.
I think about people that have lost children, parents, friends, lovers and how they hold onto the last voicemails left, the last texts sent…wishing that even without messages being sent that at least the three little dancing dots would appear. I think about people that have lost dreams, fantasies and ideas of what could have been…wishing that life was like a video game, having a save point in the past.
So what now, you ask? Well, I answer…I ask you to carry the load. To allow the weight to exist. To bear it. To be present in the moments when joy fills you when thinking about them or when thinking about what could have been. I ask you to be honest with yourself and courageous enough to face the pain that is soon to come afterwards. Let yourself have the courage to mourn the loss while relishing in the warmth of what was, could be and always will be. There is nothing more noble than the willingness to carry your own pain into your life, despite it's weight. When we do this, voluntarily (albeit at times it is thrown onto us), you become an overwhelmingly powerful force...then you have those people carry the weight of others and those are the ones that change the world. Those are the heroes. Those who voluntarily carry their own pain and then choose to help carry the load of others. People feel that. They'll feel you. And it will change you. Rebirth.
Yeah, I know it hurts- it’s supposed to. Be born, again.