Loss

With the start of daylight savings I can feel that Spring is here.  The longer evenings, the clear skies and soft breeze is balm to my soul.  Spring means new life and we are experiencing it all around us.  My son has been watching two hummingbirds as they grow over the last two weeks.  He waits patiently to watch as the mom hummingbird comes multiple times a day to feed the two babies.  The nest they live in can’t be more than the size of a quarter.  At first we could only see the tiny beaks coming over the edge of the nest, but as the days went by the hummingbirds became too big to fit in the nest and it’s time to fly.

My son rushes home from school everyday to check on them.  If it rains or if there has been a particularly windy day, he makes sure to stop by the nest to confirm that all is well.  Upon such observation this week, one of the hummingbirds is gone.  The ache and sadness behind the big beautiful eyes of my boy caused me to stop.  I reassured him that he had taken such wonderful care of the little bird and it being gone only meant it was strong enough to fly away.  That explanation did not give any relief to my grieving child.  For him, this bird that he has watched and nurtured is now gone.  I try again, looking into the face of my devastated child and reassuring him that the only reason the bird would stay is if it was sick and couldn’t fly.  The fact that it is gone is a sign of health.  My son nodded that he understood, but none of the grief subsided.

I realized through his eyes how much we take loss for granted.  I was able to explain away the natural causes of this occurrence, but in the end, it’s a loss.  I think about someone trying to tell me once my little one is old enough to go to college or get married or live on his own, that it’s healthy and it means growth.  I think I’ll want to slap them.  Is that advice supposed to be helpful?  My child is grieving and as natural as it is for birds to leave the nest, so is the grief of those left behind.

I have suffered much loss in my time.  You may have as well.  The kind of loss that sticks with you.  The kind that you can’t simply explain away.  The kind of loss that the most well meaning individuals can try to comfort you out of, but the pain still lingers on.  It becomes a part of you and makes you stronger.  A different kind of strength than others know about.  It’s a strength from within.  A strength that turns to resilience and a destiny of hope.

The funny thing about loss is that you can’t see it from the outside.  You don’t know of someone else’s loss by seeing them.  You don’t know of someone else’s loss by meeting them.  You don’t know of someone else’s loss by conversing with them.  It becomes an attribute that encompasses our being and pushes us onward.

Wherever you find your loss today, yesterday, last month, last year or a lifetime ago, don’t rush the process.  Grief takes time.  If you have never acknowledged your loss, today is your day.  The loss of the hope you once had, the dreams you once dreamt, the person that left, the ability that you can no longer access, the treasure you can’t find, the “if only’s” that haunt you. Put aside those things.  They don’t fit in your nest anymore.

Watch as they fly away.  The loss will always be there, but with the loss comes room for something new.  If you watch carefully your loss will birth a new life that just might hatch in the season to come.