A short while ago I lost a friend.
Jamie passed away from ‘natural causes,’ with a notation on his death certificate stating the exact cause was unknown.
I had not seen Jamie in person for quite a while because I had moved overseas. We did, however, stay in contact by text, messages, and the occasional video chat, although they were erratic and not frequent. After all, we are men and, in general, men are not good at talking… unless there is a reason or topic to be discussed.
I received a phone call from a mutual friend, who told me of Jamie’s death. I was surprised but not shocked. You see, Jamie was not a bronze Adonis, he was more of a rusty Shrek. He was overweight, unfit, a heavy drinker bordering on alcoholism (if not already there,) and a lover of overeating, especially overindulging on junk food.
I, along with many of his friends, on numerous occasions, warned Jamie about his lifestyle and we tried to convince him to change his habits, all to no avail, as time proved. (A far shorter time than I envisioned.)
Jamie’s death has me considering loss. It is something I have grown familiar with as I enter the winter of my life. I have witnessed many losses and know there are more I shall behold before my passing.
With my writer’s mind pondering this, my thoughts expanded to the other forms of loss we experience, the ones we live through frequently, often oblivious to the fact of their happening in the moment and, maybe, for years after.
You see, there are many forms of loss, and I am sure, I am certain, that each and every one of them affects us in some way, at some point.
Mostly we never give these losses any thought. We don’t consider many as a loss at the time they happen. We never ponder how they may shape our lives, even our personalities.
So, I shall in my usual, rambling, semi-coherent way attempt to convey to you my thoughts, and how, almost unconsciously these losses have influenced my writing.
It is said that a little of ourselves finds its way into everything we write, even if we do not wish it. I wholeheartedly agree.
I believe it is impossible to write creatively and constructively without shedding part of one’s soul onto the page. The part of us that bleeds into the ink is the combination of our awareness, sensitivities, experiences, intuitions, perceptions, understandings, our wisdom. All aspects accumulate over our lifespan.
These things do not come to us gratis, they are earned, bestowed by an immeasurable number of experiences, and encounters we endure during our daily lives, and continuous loss is one of those factors.
Take your mind back to your childhood, the earliest memories of your friends. Think back to your school days, your teenage years, who was your ‘Bestie’?
Where are they now?
You lost them, you lost contact. You moved away, or they did. Their lives and their choices took them along a different path from yours.
Your life moved on, you made new friends, and new contacts, had new lovers, maybe a family. Work, a career that placed demands on you? Your social status and your circle took precedence over old contacts. Life’s pressures, illness, travel? They all combined to make your loss an ‘everyday’ acceptable ingredient of living.
Those promises of staying in touch, of meeting regularly faded with the years, the passage of time, and the distances involved.
Your losses became a conventional, established, normal part of life, so much so you never considered these events as a loss.
Yet each one of those people touched you. They left their mark on your being. Some good, some bad, some otherwise. But they all influenced you, making you become the person you are today.
Edmond Locard’s exchange principle, “Every contact leaves a trace” is as factual here as in the forensic world.
As we age, we move from attending birthday parties to engagement parties, and then weddings, births, and inevitably funerals.
You can assess where you are in life by the ratio in which these events occur.
As for funerals, well, the more of those you attend the greater your focus on mortality becomes. They are one form of loss we cannot help but recognise.
But we accept them with, in all honesty, far less stress and mourning than often one thinks about. As hurtful and as traumatic as some will be to us, all the previous losses, those of our friends, our past colleagues, our old lovers, ex-partners, husbands, or wives, and all those we lost without so much as a backward glance, have built an endurance into us, an acceptance of ‘this is how things are’, of this is how life is. Our realisation of mortality and the inevitable recognition of the inexorable passage of time.
This is one factor which enables us to write in a captivating creative manner, in a fashion which enchants our readers, leads them line by line, page by page into our fictitious world of imagination… but, as we know, not all is invented, spread over the pages, soaked into the ink is that trace of us, our authors blood and tears, hopes, fears, rejoices, regrets, and all those thousands upon thousands of losses, whether we recognise them or not, they bleed out of our hearts as we weave our magic with our pens.
Long be it so.
Keep happy, Paul.
Read ‘Dark Words‘ today, a book of short stories and emotive poetry by Paul White
CQ Magazine said, “Dark Words is the literary equivalent of listening to Leonard Cohen, wonderfully soothing for the soul.”
Dark days come to us all at some time in our lives but they are not the place for us to dwell for too long. They are not our home… To accept and acknowledge the blackest days of our lives often reveals the pathway from the shadow maze of obscure reflection, into the sunlight of possible future.