Exactly 35 days ago, I lost someone I cared about. It came out of nowhere, and hit me like a bolt of lightning. We hadn’t been speaking for a while. He had his life, and I had mine. But it hurt. It hurt so much, that I reached out to people I care about. To tell them that I love them. Before they went, and before I went.
I had been dealing with a crazy amount of emotional turmoil already, but S’s death slammed right into every single one of my safety nets and tore them down. There was no hiding, no place to go. It was final. There was a 10 day search and rescue mission. And for every single one of those ten days, it felt like this wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t have been on that plane. It was impossible. It couldn’t be this easy to lose someone.
Devastation, confusion, pain, disbelief — it was constant. Even now, over a month later, I wake up in the middle of the night, and for just a moment, it isn’t real. Grief can be an isolating thing. It’s not that there aren’t people to help you through it. It’s that it doesn’t matter if they’re there. They can’t rescue you from the mangled emotions no matter how much you want them to. How to go on? How to feel anything at all, knowing that the grief has a mind of its own?
The Ghost Ship
errance / errantry
Though each love is experienced as unique and though the subject rejects the notion of repeating it elsewhere later on, he sometimes discovers in himself a kind of diffusion of amorous desire; he realizes then he is doomed to wander until he dies, from love to love.
– Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse
I am a ghost ship — everywhere I went, I found love. I found love in the unthinkable, in strangers, in friends, in family, in impossible dreams and even in grief. I’m surrounded by love. Something I didn’t believe was possible until 35 days ago.
My grief paved the path to love. The more I shared my pain with people, the more they took me in, the more they shared their love, and the more I’m able to share my love now. Cocooned in warmth and care, I no longer agonise over separation. Distance isn’t something to lose sleep over. Estrangement isn’t miserable. Heartbreak isn’t fearsome. I have love to give, and to take, in abundance. The more of it I lose, I know there’s more of it I can make.
S, this is what you’ve left behind. A ghost ship.