A LENGTHY LOSS LIST

 It's the Saturday I mentioned in my last post.  Six years ago, about this time (2:00 pm), I got a knock on the door.  That knock on the door was my mother.  It was the only time in my almost fourteen years of living in Calmar, that my mom showed up without prior notice.  She came to tell me that her grandson, my nephew was dead.  

I've been reading through the "Grief Recovery Handbook", and the homework assignment for today was to compile a loss list.  If I had tried to write this list a week ago, I might have put about five to ten items on the list.  But having a new upgraded definition of grief and loss, I found my list growing to over seventy entries so far.  

The first entry was my grandmother's death from lung cancer in 1975.  I was seven years old at the time.  The most recent entry was my Uncle Don who passed away in December.  Ben shows up somewhere in the middle.  

Most of the losses were not traumatic deaths of loved ones.   A lot of the names I put down probably didn't draw many tears, if any at all.  I have a big family and that explains a good portion of the death losses.  Three losses were coworkers (all cancer deaths); seven of the deaths were four legged loved ones; twenty-four events were not deaths at all.  Cancer was the biggest culprit in the deaths.  

What these seventy some items all have in common was the weighty feeling of some kind of loss that welled up in me.  Every event contributed a hole in my core.  One might think that after that great a list, I might have a heart of swiss cheese.  Some years I have felt like that.  But somehow the emptiness that is created when each death happens or each change occurs becomes less empty. Love starts to fill the holes.  Love doesn't evict the memories, but somehow finds a way to co-exist with them.  It's like a warm blanket covering over the pain and heartache, allowing it to find a safe place to rest. 

Losses like Ben require more blankets, because they create a bigger hole.  As I peruse the list, more names come to mind and I wonder if I forgot them because they weren't as painful.  That isn't entirely true.  Most of those hurt a great deal during the time they were fresh losses. Most also found a safe place to rest, only to surface on occasion leaving behind a smile.  

I didn't list the countless people still alive that I "lost" when I transitioned homes and jobs.  They have a place in my heart and memories and also bring a smile when I find myself thinking about them.  

I am glad that today wasn't just focused on Ben.  I am glad that I could share this day with all those others who have shared space with me and left holes behind.  Ben is one of the big holes, but he would graciously open his arms to share space with all the other loved ones I thought of today as I made this rather lengthy loss list.  

“Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place.”  Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever