Loss is not something you get rid of, ever. The first few months or so you look for an anesthesia that will desensitize you. You don’t want to feel, so you must bury yourself in something. Work. Alcohol. Extra-curriculars. Anything will do.
And for a little while, it works.
But at some point, that feeling has a way to sneak up on you. It’ll be back and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying to you. It’ll show up at your doorstep between 1 a.m. and 4 a.m on a week day, though nobody is really stopping her from showing up at noon on a sunny Saturday.
When that happens — when she knocks — you acknowledge her. Not because someone is forcing you to but because you’re ready now. You are operating under the false impression that time heals everything and you believe that now, is the time.
And in a way, it is.
You look at her objectively for the very first time and find a logic behind it — a made up truth — and once you do, you put her in a box. Though you’re left with a scar it’s not infected anymore. It doesn’t hurt and you no longer have to mend it with lotions and antibiotics.
That is your cue that you are A-OKAY.
But just because you closed your box, doesn’t mean you got rid of it. All it means is that you’ve stored it. You have successfully made it a part of you, of who you are.
That’s how you deal with loss.
But don’t ever believe you got rid of it. Sometimes, months or even years later, you miss her and you want to visit. So you open the box and check up on her, on loss.
That’s when you know you’re really healed.
When she isn’t the one sneaking up on you, you’re the one sneaking up on her.
Inspired by Cathy, 32, in memory of her best-friend.