No one is a stranger to loss. Whether you lose a home, a person, a career, or a pet, eventually everyone goes through it. It’s always hard, and it can feel very awkward, especially if the loss is life changing or unrelatable to most people. There’s no blueprint, so most of us just stumble our way through our losses, hoping that at some point we will start to feel better.
However, by far, the most awkward moments are for those who are doing the comforting. Some people try to offer an “up-side” or try to suggest replacements. Others try to distract you from the issue or pretend that nothing is wrong. Still others may try to ignore you, because their own discomfort overshadows any sense of separation you may be feeling. If you have ever experienced a significant loss, this is the point where you become aware that you have entered “The Twilight Zone.”
Most of us perceive loss as having something taken away from us. We have something in our possession or as a huge part of our life, and then suddenly we don’t. We are told, “The wound will become a scar, you will heal and be stronger, and then your life will move on.” But the reality of being in The Twilight Zone” of loss is that you haven’t just lost something or someone. YOU are lost. You don’t recognize the landscape of your life anymore. The area around you is familiar, but you are very disoriented as to exactly where you are or where you belong. That means you are having trouble finding your way home, and your GPS can’t help you, because you don’t have your old destination to type in. You are just hovering; you feel yourself getting smaller and smaller as the rest of the world becomes vaster, further away, and yet ominously larger than ever.
A dear friend of mine recently sent me an old clip from one of the more memorable episodes of “The Twilight Zone” TV show. In the shadows, we see the silhouettes of doctors and nurses removing bandages from the face of a woman whom we are led to believe had been horribly disfigured. When the final bandage comes off, exposing the gorgeous face of an actress who was known for her stunning beauty, the medical team announces that the surgery has been a failure, and the woman screams in horror of her hideousness as she looks in the mirror. The camera then focuses on the doctors and nurses, who are no longer in the shadows, and it’s finally revealed that in the world of this imaginary society, the face of an asymmetrical pig is apparently the standard of beauty. The episode totally upends our perspective of normalcy and logical expectations.
How in the world does this relate to the concept of loss? Well, we tend to think of someone else’s experiences within the framework or our own perspective. It’s not that people don’t care, but they project their personal priorities onto someone else’s situation. Everyone pictures the world through different eyes and a different heart. It can sometimes be very difficult to fully empathize with someone else’s loss, because each life is affected deeply by different priorities. Our passions are so very different, so our losses are, too.
So, as comforters, what do we do? We can’t fix it for someone else, or say the ultimate magic words, or even give any advice that hasn’t already been said so many times.
What we can do is to simply be present. We can stay connected. There’s a reason why solitary confinement is considered a cruel and dangerous punishment. Just being present in someone’s life is grossly underestimated as having the power to help the healing. It costs nothing – seriously, it costs nothing to talk. Or to squeeze a hand. You don’t need to fill out a form, or download an app. You just do it. No one’s words can solve everything anyway, but hugs and eye contact actually can.
For those who know me, it probably seems that I am most likely talking about the recent death of my husband, but I’m not. This year, I will be transitioning out of a world that has enveloped me for my entire life. I am going from VERY fulltime teaching, directing, performing, choreographing, and costuming to part-time teaching master/guest classes, coaching, and writing. There are so many things that I want/need to do, and I am no longer satisfied with doing them “one day.” No one should be satisfied with that. Today is always here, but “one day” rarely comes.
Like too many dancers, I have never known any life other than one with dancing. My husband was a dancer/choreographer, so even my marriage was always busy with dance related schedules. Therefore, I am trying to anticipate the future, but I am terrified of losing the past. It’s like the death of a twin sister; I’m still here, and I look the same, but there’s an emptiness that needs to be filled in…with a purpose.
People may offer hearty congratulations, but any dancer who has gone through this life transition knows the eerie dichotomy of the novelty of the change and the sadness of the loss. Finding a “replacement” is not an option, but a new vision is. Remorse over what wasn’t done is off the table as well, because it keeps the freshness of the future hidden. However, encouragement, trustful patience, and camaraderie help the journey continue until you find what all of your life experiences have been leading up to. God always has a plan, and even as I am writing this, I am finding that the need, inspiration, and motivation for the next upward rung of the ladder is so much more important than the familiarity of staying where I am.
I am ready to carefully peek through the crack in the door that leads to “infinity and beyond!” Even if no one else’s perspective sees it the way I do, it doesn’t really matter, because my perspective is what is pushing me forward and out of “The Twilight Zone.”
Dance on.
Grace Notes 