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Description
They describe loss as leaving an empty space, a vacancy where a person once was. There is no discerning from these people; they are all “sorry for” my loss. As if they can know every meaning these people I have lost has ever had for me. It becomes just another presumptuous definition by people who don’t understand, another pretentious oversimplification of things that cannot be generalized. Is loss even the right word for this? No, they are not holes, they are not gaping chasms. They are more complete now, internally; more wholly a part of me. Their essences are vivid. They are not lost. They do not plague me. They are not burdens I have to fill with something else. I feel them with me, not as phantom companions making second sets of footprints, but now they are in my own print and shadow. Now that they are gone, they seem closer to me than they used to be. I feel a heightened awareness of them. They give me this gift of being within my composition. When people talk to me of honouring the dead, I know that the dead have already bestowed me with an unimaginably beautiful kind of honour. My incredulity does not reflect a lack of logic or show denial. It is because I feel their lives and characters continuing. I am more than I was.

Description
They describe loss as leaving an empty space, a vacancy where a person once was. There is no discerning from these people; they are all “sorry for” my loss. As if they can know every meaning these people I have lost has ever had for me. It becomes just another presumptuous definition by people who don’t understand, another pretentious oversimplification of things that cannot be generalized. Is loss even the right word for this? No, they are not holes, they are not gaping chasms. They are more complete now, internally; more wholly a part of me. Their essences are vivid. They are not lost. They do not plague me. They are not burdens I have to fill with something else. I feel them with me, not as phantom companions making second sets of footprints, but now they are in my own print and shadow. Now that they are gone, they seem closer to me than they used to be. I feel a heightened awareness of them. They give me this gift of being within my composition. When people talk to me of honouring the dead, I know that the dead have already bestowed me with an unimaginably beautiful kind of honour. My incredulity does not reflect a lack of logic or show denial. It is because I feel their lives and characters continuing. I am more than I was.