Loss. As humans we are acquainted with loss from a very early age. It is a constant of our growing years…for some more than others. But each of us had the experience of losing our first tooth, an event that was both exciting and traumatic. We have all heard…or maybe experienced…the stories of children who did not want to let go of that smile gem that had traveled with them for five or six years. There was the fear that it might hurt. There was the confusion about what would take its place. There was the sheer terror of the tales of strings and door handles and slamming. In those moments, even the promise of the Tooth Fairy and the cold, hard cash under a pillow could not ease the discomfort felt. 

We are swimming in a sea of loss these days. Since the pandemic hit we find ourselves in an endless cycle of stories of loss. Loss of life. Loss of jobs. Loss of businesses. Loss of the freedom to go to many of the places we normally would if there wasn’t this invisible threat that could make any of us ill while we also become carriers to others. There is also the loss of the rhythm of our days and weeks and the activities that make up what we would be doing this summer. There is the loss of school schedules and work schedules and the predictability of ‘how we live our lives.’And of course, there is the loss of human contact we all lament as we stay closer to home to keep friends and strangers safe. Where the loss exists, other beings ooze in and takes up residence…uncertainty and its byproduct, fear. And I think most of us have realized over the last months that we really, really, really do not like uncertainty.

I have been reflecting a great deal about loss over these last months and observing how I live with this unwelcome companion. What I have been noticing is how intricately woven loss is in our every day lives and in the flow of Creation. We don’t like to recognize this or honor its presence but, since our first, lost tooth made its way into our tiny hand or even before, loss has always walked beside us. We see it reflected in the change of the seasons and in the ebb and flow of the Moon’s round fullness that grows from a tiny sliver and then back again in its glowing orb in the night sky.  And the now there is the ever-increasing loss of light as summer begins to turn toward autumn . Soon the trees will let loose their leaves and the loss of color will give way to the starkness of winter stillness.

Earlier in the summer, as I was walking I came upon this tree whose brilliant pink blossoms struck me with awe for several days in a row. But the tree…through wind and rain and the inevitability of time…had let go its blossoms that now formed this enchanted path of color. Loss, I thought. This was all a part of the life of this tree which I had so enjoyed but through loss was now creating a magical carpet I beheld but could not bring myself to walk on. I just stood and noticed the beauty of this loss. 

Another walking route takes me by the Mississippi River allowing me to stand and watch as pieces of trees, large and small, float slowly downriver. Someplace along the flow of this mighty body of water, an unseen tree has lost a part of itself through storm or erosion and is making its way to another place. Those that veer too close to the tiny Raspberry Island get hung up on a large ever-evolving sculpture of driftwood while others keep flowing to another unseen place. I like to think some make it all the way to New Orleans. This river-made sculpture is made entirely of loss. Something to think about.

The 13th century Sufi poet, Rumi says: ”Anything you lose comes back to you in another form.” I want to believe that and do think that the losses we have experienced and will continue to experience have the potential to teach us something we had not yet imagined we needed to learn. Of course, I say this from the comfort of my home knowing I have all I need. I cannot know nor understand the devastating suffering so many are experiencing through these many losses. My privilege is not lost on me. And neither is the desire to hold this time of loss in open hands, with an open heart in the deep hope of coming to the other side of this somehow honed for living in the world with a more compassionate heart and with a stronger sense of how loss can be more a friend than an enemy. 

There is great joy when that new, permanent tooth breaks through the skin and begins to grow, altering our faces into the more mature ones to come. Unless there is some accident of storm or nature, the beautiful pink blossoms will emerge from the tree in the spring and my awe will once again be stoked. As snow begins to fall and temperatures plummet, ice will form on the sculpture that sits on the cusp of Raspberry Island changing it into a thing of shimmering, frozen magic. Loss will become another form.

May the same be true for each of us as we hold the losses we are experiencing in these strange, life-altering days.