It’s the loss that you never get used to / the first time you lose

Mary Chapin Carpenter “Come On, Come On”

(Prepare yourself: I intend to use the word “loss” repeatedly in this essay. There won’t be any synonyms. No thesaurus on my desk. There is method in my madness (not usually, but this time.)

Loss in life is ubiquitous. In fact, a strong case could be made that loss is one of the 2 or 3 major drivers of our lives, along with love and whatever you want to insert here. Strangely, when you look at your life, your losses seem to play a more important role than your gains or wins. That is psychologically true for the population as a whole and probably true for most individuals. It is for me. We remember our losses. Losses shape us more than wins.

I vividly remember my first sense of loss. I was 4 years old and my one-year older brother had just that day gone off to kindergarten. Keep in mind that this was the person who had been with me every second of my life up until that morning. And he was gone for no good reason that I could understand. Gone. Past the stop sign even and we had never gone past the stop sign. Why did my Mom take him past the stop sign and then come back without him? This was crazy. I was sitting on my red tricycle on the sidewalk next to my house looking down that street and thinking, “What do I do now?” I was asking the fundamental question that we all face when a major loss hits our lives. “What do I do now?”

We face all types of losses as we go through life. There are the small losses – the games, the matches, the opportunities, and, least important, the objects that we lose. More serious losses include the schools we didn’t get into, career advancements that did not materialize, and romantic relationships that either failed to blossom or just ended. Of course, the most important category of loss has to be death. The deaths of family, friends, acquaintances, and pets (Yes, I included pets. Ask a pet owner and see if I’m wrong.) These are life’s losses that rock you and alter you. My parents have died, as has my brother, Bob, at age 41. I’ve lost many friends. I remember that in 2009, in one 10 month period, I lost my Dad and 3 friends. That was a black period. Yeah, loss changes you. Loss is part of life.

As I march steadily (haltingly?) into middle age (I turn 66 tomorrow!), I find that the aging process stacks your losses like cordwood before winter. Also, unlike in your youth, there are really no insignificant losses associated with aging. You know that your own mortality is looming ever larger. That’s a given. You also know that you will lose more friends. That’s also a given. Neither of these is pleasant, but it’s pretty much what you sign up for if you don’t die young. So, I live with that knowledge and that reality, but what I am finding very difficult to accept is the ongoing, inexorable loss of me.

I have been athletic my whole life. Athleticism is an essential facet of who I am. I was blessed with whatever skills I had and I worked hard to hone those skills and adapt them to my sports. I am losing my athleticism. Now, I am not naive. Everyone who plays sports knows their skills degrade over time and, pretty much, accepts that horror. So, that was fine in my 40s and 50s, but what I’m seeing in my 60s shouldn’t happen to my worst enemy. Slowed reactions, multiple injuries, worsening eye-hand coordination. These are just some of my maladies. It’s frightening and it’s not fair. I need to speak to the manager.

Of course, mentally I’m also looking at losses. I’ve always known that I was lucky in my facility with language in speaking and writing. I was quick with the tongue and had command of a wide variety of language skills. Less so now. Sometimes I find myself grasping for a word or phrase that would fit perfectly and end up settling for something less appropriate. That sucks (see – evidence!) It’s not pathologic by any means, but this loss of an essential part of me is frustrating and depressing.

As someone used to say to me years ago, “No one is going to feel sorry for you.” And that’s right. I’m not looking for anyone to feel sorry for me. Not even close. I just wanted to write about a universal issue that I feel gets overlooked and bring my personal perspective into that subject. I continues to play my sports and be physically active. I live in a beautiful community in one of the most beautiful parts of this nation, The LowCountry. I have nothing really serious wrong with me. No one should feel sorry for me. Well, maybe just a little. Cause, you know, I am getting older. I’m middle aged now.

When I philosophically look at the losses in my life, I know that they combined to form the person that I have become, for better or worse. And I survived them. Then, I look at what I see heading my way and I think of that little 4 year old boy’s question, “What do I do now?” I have no more idea now than I did then.

“So we beat on, boats against the current borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Be good. Be safe. Stay informed. Get the damn booster!