Loss is a Monster

Loss is a monster. I was attacked by it just last week. A single earring Nathan bought me for my birthday, part of the pair that I wore on my wedding day, is gone, gone gone.

Loss is a monster.

Unfortunately, life has much loss. There are days you lose the simple things: car keys, a tooth, an earring, an Extra pack of gum.

And then there are other days. Days that are hopefully more rare. You lose a lot more. People. Prized possessions. Money. Love. Hope.

We still survive somehow.

Even though Loss is a monster.

Months ago, after enduring a painfully dry high school graduation, I packed the family minivan with a shoe rack, some large boxes, and a couple of huge canvas bags of clothes. I left the safety and security of my family’s home for a new life ten miles north.

As my family and I hauled my goods to a new third floor apartment, I stared around my empty room. I wondered if it would feel like home.

The next day was orientation. Sparkly new college freshman, neatly organized into groups, followed seasoned college students around like puppies – bounding around the grounds, yapping questions, and slobbering over Snicker Doodle Ice Cream.

I felt alone.

I kept silent, following my leaders, barely interested and somewhat uncomfortable with so many bounding, yapping, slobbering puppies. They were too happy. Too excited. Too at home.

I was lost.

However painful that orientation was, a few friends were made – a few places discovered – a new life initiated. Security once lost was gradually gained over many weeks of roommate baking parties, running and exploring the streets of Provo, and failing Chemistry tests.

It all worked out, and was precisely for my benefit.

When life fills us with loss and depleted hope, it’s hard to remember outcomes or the benefits. I stress, I eat too many cookies, I don’t eat at all, I stare out the window at a listless world, I get lost in myself.

But maybe,
the monster can be conquered.

To me, loss doesn’t mean shutting others out, thinking your life has no meaning, or letting it weigh you down. It doesn’t mean forgetting what’s important. It means taking some time for yourself to heal, figuring out what makes you happy, creating opportunities to help others, and gaining strength from this loss to be prepared for the future.

It’s understanding that it’s okay to be sad. But it’s okay to be happy too.

I’ve been lucky enough to avoid catastrophic losses in my life. However, we all feel the effects of loss. I felt the effect of loss when it took my beautiful silver earring. It fell out of my ear and right into the toilet as I flushed. That earring was the first birthday gift from my husband Nathan, part of a pair that I wore on my wedding day – something I won’t ever get back.

Even though I mourned the loss of a prized possession, I am okay now. I listened to the wise words of Nathan as he hugged me: “At least you have the other earring!”

Loss is a monster. But it can be conquered in the triumph of happiness and gratitude.