Loss.

I don't know what to say...

For the first time in a really long time I am at a loss for words. Anyone who knows me, knows what a rarity that is, as I can ramble about anything. I don't want to ramble.

Three very close friends of mine all lost loved ones within the past few weeks. One lost her father unexpectedly from a sudden heart attack, one lost her grandmother (from complications related to a surgery that was intended to resolve her health issues), and the last lost her artist mentor (who was also her former boss, confidante, etc.).

I simply don't know what to say. Trolling around different stationary shops seeking out decent sympathy cards. Nothing seems to fit. How do we say the words that never sound quite good enough? How do we buy the cards we hope to never need? How can we extend a genuine flurry of our care?

Yes, I've been busy with work, but more than that, I am thinking through this idea of loss. My clients have been needing so much of me lately, and I have been spreading myself a bit too thin. An elderly client who keeps falling, and phoning me day and night to jump in and aid her with her daily tasks. Another whose husband travels for work, and I am the 'go to' guy. I barely have time to do anything, running around for everyone else. But I have time to think. Thinking non-stop as I walk their dogs, run their errands, try to get some semblance of my own life back in there somewhere. Thinking the whole time...

I feel inadequate.

Words are usually my solace. I take comfort in trying to craft the perfect string of phrases to represent all that takes up residence in this feeble mind of mine. I'm not saying that I'm a great writer – no. All I mean is that I like how much I really work at every attempt. I set up these rigorous challenges for myself everyday in hopes of pushing myself a little bit further past this threshold of comfort and ease. I want it to be difficult, to have writing feel like enough of a chore that it is always intentional.

And so, here I've been... In the dis-ease of a flooded mind, immersed in so many lead-heavy, anchoring thoughts about living, dying, and how it all functions in our lives. For several days I have been at this standstill, trying to cull one single idea from the pile to tease out a beginning.

I've missed writing, as it's clearly been my catharsis in the past. Anyone who is close to me has probably received her of his share of long, rambly emails from me. It's what I do. And when I don't have time to write those overly verbose missives, or these blog posts, it means something. It means that I am stuck. Not like I am paralyzed by fear or melancholy. No. In this case, I haven't had the time to find the stillness – to make the stillness – required for me to write. My mind is endlessly chattering away, and the distractions are infinite. I can now see the appeal of meditation. I can't do it myself, but I understand why folks are drawn to it.

Writing about my life not only helps me purge the grit from the day's events, but it helps me to define my life simultaneously as I write. Things crystallize, come into focus, and take shape as I type away. Not writing leaves things nameless, faceless, like molten blobs of raw thoughts. It can *feel* dangerous after a while.

So, not having written for days, makes this first stab feel useless.

Her father died, and I don't know how to make her feel better. This friend that was my only life line when things were the darkest in my life several years ago. We emailed and instant messaged my way through the multitude of sleepless nights when I felt the most alone. Now that she experiencing her own darkness, I wish that I could somehow swoop in and be that emotional nurse maid to her. And to my other two friends that have stuck by me in my most trying times.

I can't imagine writing about anything else right now, and yet I don't even know what to say here.

Despite death being inevitable, we are never prepared for its arrival. One friend had a few months to ready herself for her mentor's departure after his diagnosis and prognosis from a rare type of cancer. Then this other friend's father passed away in his slept from a sudden heart attack. There was no time to worry, to think about the probability of that kind of loss. And my third friend's experience falling in between those two poles of 'lead time' prior to a loved one's passing. This third friend's grandmother had been having recurring health issues that seemed very dire. Doctors suggested a surgery to hopefully rectify some of her ailments, but unfortunately, and horrifically, she didn't survive.

Even though none of us can escape death, why does it feel so personal when *we lose* someone so dear? Every loss feels so incredibly unique and previously explored. And the horrible sensation that the world does not stop when we lose that loved one. The busy-ness, the chatter, the mind numbing rudiments we still have to perform.

I'm just trying to find some of that stillness to get back to the middle. Wanna meet me here?