Losing

We often call a death a "loss," denoting the loss of that person, their presense, their voice, their perspective, their memories from the common pool. We refer to it as our loss, too. We lose all the different functions and roles they played in our life.

What got me down yesterday was thinking of all of this loss in terms of competition. I know on a rational level that I shouldn't compare my life to the lives of others, but I look around and I can't help but notice how all of our other friends are thriving in ways we once did or once hoped to. They're buying houses, getting married, and having kids.

I am happy for them individually, but their joy amplifies my loss, our loss. I've tried to communicate this to a few really close friends, and they remind me that I'm young still and that who knows what the future holds for me or anyone.

That's the correct attitude to have, I suppose, but it doesn't match up to how I'm feeling, which is this: Wendy and I lost. I refuse to compete any more. I don't want to get married, I don't want to have children, I don't want to save for retirement.

I don't want to do any of that stuff because I can't do that stuff with her.

Now, to be clear, I'm not talking about suicide, but I am talking about dropping out, in a way. Wendy and I worked hard to build a future for ourselves and our family. I couldn't do that again without forgetting all of this loss.

I guess what I'm saying is that I can't reconstruct the path I was on with Wendy, or model my life after the way my friends live. It's time for me to create a new life and throw in the towel on the old one. I just can't imagine what I want that new life to be.