The thing about death – in fact the thing about life – is that we know this is finite, we know it all ends, but we are floored just the same because we don’t know how to believe it. We are all living with the fatal flaw of optimism, we’re all considering our maybe next times and our second chances, our opportunities to change things. We plot and plan – redemption, revenge, renewal – because we never truly accept that something can be lost to us. We tell ourselves that we live in a world of infinite possibility, that time heals everything, that tomorrow is another day. We waste so much time believing in the benign nature of time itself, in the idea that it will somehow expand to contain everything we want of this world if we just keep going. If we never, ever give up.
But when someone you love dies, that which you once considered endless is suddenly contained. The ending has been written, and though you can travel backward through all of what came before, you will one day arrive at the point where the beginning resides, where there is nothing new to discover. Here is where the real loss lies. Because once you have exhausted your memories you begin to miss all of the things you never knew. There will be no new words to decipher, no new clumsy mistakes to ponder, no new arguments on which to stake your silence. No new white-flag smiles, and no new resolutions. No new landscape awaits your exploration. You will have mapped your love.
The truth is all we really have is right here, right now. Your enduring faith in tomorrow means you never have both feet planted in today. I cannot come with you anymore.
(RIP Whitney – you sang it like I felt it x)