Loss is an inescapable part of life. We experience this at infrequent intervals during our lives as our relatives begin to succumb to the ravages of time. Despite this ongoing proof of mortality, we always seem to be stunned that those whose existence is importance to us are not as eternal as the stars. The void left in our lives strikes us anew with each passing, as though we are incapable of learning from previous losses.
I am reasonably well-read on the psychology of grief, and despite this self-awareness I find myself struck down by a new loss as though it were an entirely novel experience. As a male born in the 1960’s, even the hardened armor of stoicism ingrained in my being by my father’s generation is not proof against the keen blade of sorrow, and I weep openly, forgoing the unspoken admonition that men should not give rein to their passions.
Because of my life-long love of learning, I have not even the surcease of religion to soothe my anguish. Despite my pain, I cannot cast aside reason for faith. My beloved wife- herself no admirer of any god or ess- tries to ease her grief by believing in an afterlife. I am unable to so deny the fruit of my intellect, even for remediation of emotional pain.
This night, my life is dimmed by sorrow. I cast these words into the ether in lieu of open demonstrations of grief or the hollow promise of faith, as both are alien to me by my culture and upbringing.
Current status: Bitter
Current music: Man in the Box by Alice in Chains