the art of losing

I've had two close friends lose a parent this month. Both are handling it beautifully, with grace and elegance, but that doesn't change the pain. It's a sting, more than a jolt really, one that dulls over time but sticks in your gut like a parasite, always pulsing, always reminding. It's sharper when the person who died was too young to be gone just yet, as in both of these cases.

I know sometimes I still wake up in the quiet of night with the shivers, angry and begging the universe to bring my mother back. I'd become God's debtor to be able to speak with her again. Yeah, that never, ever goes away.

How many losses are there in this life. Certainly at a point in adulthood we all come to terms with the realization that every beginning IS a beginning because something we loved had to end. This time of year its the season changing that reminds us of renewal, of how resilient the human mind and heart really are. The smell of pumpkins and spice has made me weepy lately, a reminder that summer turns into autumn, and there are some things I've had to leave behind. But the chill in the air, the briskness in my step, also reminds me that there is so much to love, so much excitement everyday.

Below is one of my favorite poems of all time. I dedicate it to Christopher and Michelle, and to myself as well, as seasons change and losses settle over us like winter coats. The times of renewed strength are always right around the metaphorical corner though, ready to surprise us and love us. They usually come in the form of people, people who make us smile and start over.

ONE ART [Elizabeth Bishop]

The art of losing isn't hard to master;

 so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.  

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. 

The art of losing isn't hard to master.  

Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant  to travel. 

None of these will bring disaster.  

I lost my mother's watch. 

And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. 

The art of losing isn't hard to master.  I lost two cities, lovely ones. 

And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. 

I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.  

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied.  

It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master

 though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.