Finding Comfort in the Meaning of Loss
It’s been over two years and most of the memories seem to stray. Yet, one still remains vividly.
The large hall was empty except for the dancing fish. I stared at the vast blue glass and the lights shimmering upon its reflection decorated the dark opaque floor. A place I’ve grown familiar within my early childhood felt hollow that afternoon when we walked in.
As we entered the hall, you were on the phone with your father, probably the only time I saw you speaking with him in the years I’ve gotten to know you. I’ve never met him, and though you rarely talk about him, I imagined he bears such strength and compassion that I have yet to learn then—similar to my own.
After a few minutes, you hung up and said, “He said hi.” A second later, you continued, “He always thought you’re nice. Though he has never met you, he always thought so.” It was one of those very rare moments where I see an honest emotion that you don’t often show directly, letting it drape on your face. Looking back, there were not many of these I’ve seen, but when I do, there was a sense of wholesome sincerity that I cherished in our friendship then.
I replied with gratitude, and we continued to walk and gaze at the vast blue. And for a moment, the hollow hall felt full.
Before that afternoon, we’ve already known one another for four years. Early-twenties-me thought we both understood the foundation for a friendship to flourish—although, I had my own share of doubts about the kind of loyalty you tend to portray. It was in our friendship’s comfort, I thought, we were able to slowly show how honest our true selves are, one I found rare to share to many then. Unfortunately, it reached its end, and in our last exchange, I understood we did not see the same kind of friendship we thrived in.
It was a strange process of grieving this particular kind of loss. Yet, having to reconcile a loss of a friendship based on not being able to right the wrongs somewhat has led me to recognise what was missed within the closeness. I thought the loss I encountered seemingly needed to be buried and concealed without closure, however, it was one I needed to face with every ugly truth I had somewhat accepted in the past.
One year after another, it was still difficult to endure. Mainly because speaking about this experience of loss made me feel uneasy. I felt it was irrelevant, incomparable to the other kinds of loss being experienced, even for myself to feel. Until recently, a psychologist I was speaking with reminded me that in these moments, we should recognise all the emotions and not discard them as an attempt to move on. While the weights of loss differ, it is still a loss.
Rather than persistently looking for closure, understand the absence of the loss that is, actually, present.
Our encounters of loss as a human vary, yet there’s an underlying commonality within it. As Pauline Boss said, “I don’t like to use the word “acceptance,” but I think we can try to be comfortable with what we cannot solve.” In struggling to accept it, I found that the pursuit of loss and recognising each of the emotions I was experiencing allows reentry. Not being able to conceal this particular loss offers a way to understand it beyond what was our friendship then. This gradually leads to taking slow steps in finding its meaning.
Though the idea of reentry seems to be like opening new doors, it could also be walking onto a bridge, or a page turned revealing a new chapter. For me, this caters to understand why the honest emotion reflected after that phone call was very rare.
Being comfortable in not finding closure adds to the meaning of it all, giving you time to step back and see it differently. Having to write this now, this particular loss brought to light how essential recognising the emotions can contribute to our own growth. As we pace through lives in our own ways, imprinting our steps, bearing through challenges and struggles, growth is crucial in journeying through.
For it is part of appreciating the journey we’ll find the meaning of the loss.
