The Breath

When you have that moment of loss, or that moment where loss in evitable, it can feel as though the air is sucked out of your lungs. Or more accurately, it’s sucked from your lungs, the room, and seemingly from the world.

There is no logical thought. Only “Fuck, I am dying” or “Fuck, I’m about to die.”

There is no feeling like it. No. Feeling. Like it.

And then, the logical brain does enter.

“My God, will I always feel this way? This is unbearable. I cannot possibly live through this.”

And then something happens — you do.

The pain of breathing becomes a little less sharp. The air slowly comes back into the world. Back into the room. Back into your lungs.

But no one knows how long it will take. And frankly, there’s nothing anyone on this earth can offer that will take it away.

You can try to escape it, or to control it, or to make it go faster.

One day, you just realize that you are breathing without thinking about it every second. But it doesn’t make up for the days where you were acutely aware of each and every painful and difficult breath. You remember those, too.

And when another loss comes, you remember. And you go right back to that space. Knowing that it will evolve and change doesn’t make it easier, though.

Our hearts need breath via our lungs to continue to beat. Doesn’t it make sense that our hearts will hurt so long as we figuratively, and sometimes literally, cannot breathe?

Doesn’t it make sense that it hurts?

Doesn’t it make sense that the rhythm of life is temporarily disrupted? Are you aware of your breath right now? Are you aware of your lungs, moving air in and out? Your lungs delivering air to your heart?

The things that we do not notice until we are made to notice. Loss does this, too.

You look around. You see things differently.

You walk into a public place wondering if you’ve ever truly seen anyone. They cannot, of course, tell what hell you are going through. On the outside it looks like you’re breathing completely fine. Life is paced according to what we are doing in that moment. What are you doing? What are they doing?

Will you be “ok?’ Sure, you’ll be alive. But will you be “ok?”

The answer is yes, but I’m so so sorry.