When you lose someone who is close to you, it leaves those affected in udder awe. A question of ones’ existence occurs. The ongoing question of your purpose in this world seems to be unusually pronounced. The question of “where the fuck did this person go?” spins around and around in your head until you give in, realizing there is no answer… and yet you continue to search, again. Many people who have not experienced the death of a close loved one compare it to the loss of a lover or love relationship. As someone who is very accustomed to dagger-to-the-bussom heartbreaks, in my opinion I consider both losses different pains. A loss of a love is gut wrenching and full of ego mind games— self-psychotic. The loss by death seems a bit more of an evolved pain if there is even such a thing. It can make you feel like a ghost that walks alone observing “happy” people and wondering why such an awful event happened to you, not them. (Given that you have no idea what they have actually been through. But are they really able to empathize?  Mantra: stay positive, things could also be worse.) It makes you feel utterly lost in the universe questioning time, place (where the hell am I?), the relationship you had with the lost person (did I really know you?), your psyche (back and forth), your heart (exhausted), your imbalanced brain (give me a break).  Perhaps the difference lies within the peace-factor of the death. When one is ill and in pain, preparing for death, their passing might be looked upon as a natural relief for their body and soul. For someone who has an unexpected, violent death— such as murder or suicide— a certain energy lies amongst this occurrence and seems to linger, bringing bout a dark cloud of questions, anxieties, anger, and utter remorse. You wake up one day feeling a little better, and then another day you can’t stop obsessing about the fact that life has challenged you with this disgusting feat and as much as you don’t even want to bother climbing, you must. And so I climb… each day a little more. Slipping on the slime, yet grasping tight to the light. Trying to mentally transform something so dark into something that is “a blessing in disguise”, or teaches me a “valued lesson”. Today I call bullshit; tomorrow I may feel a bit more enlightened and dub this experience grace. Whatever it is, it is not something I read in the small print when I signed this agreement… Or was I even conscious when doing so? My memory fails me. And so I am reminded of my strength. Even the strong and discipline, muscles sore and torn, need to purge their frustrations and cry out all the pent up pains. And my dad chimes in, “stop feeling sorry for yourself.” And I smile.