Some of my favourite stories involve characters facing major losses in life – one that springs to mind is The Hawk and the Dove by Penelope Wilcock. In it we see the agonising losses experienced by a gifted monk, Brother ‘Peregrine’ as he is called for his hawk-like appearance and manner. Grievous and unjust losses tame the hawk, ultimately leading him to a more dove-like character. No one wants to travel this path, but Wilcock shows us that by determination and humility, Peregrine becomes a man greater than his celebrated intellect, and more compassionate towards others who suffer.
We all experience losses. Some are merely inconvenient or frustrating. Others are devastating and we wonder if we can possibly survive them. We need to grieve them so that we can regain hope and purpose. If we don’t work through them, they shape us in unhelpful ways; bitterness, resentment, cynicism, and resignation can grow from them. These don’t lead to the healthy relationships and abundant life that God intends for us.
Perhaps your hero is someone who has overcome huge obstacles of loss: injury, illness, loss of loved ones, financial ruin, loss of reputation, loss of belief in their own worth or competence. What you admire them for is the way they haven’t allowed the loss to derail their lives. It’s not that loss hasn’t changed them. It has. But we lap up stories of people who make the hard choices, day after day, to direct the change in themselves towards something better so that loss doesn’t have the final word.
I have finally begun to recognise the truth of this in my own life. I fall so easily into despair, wanting to lower my expectations as my sense of competence plunges. But here’s the thing: loss can be approached as a gateway to something new and good. It’s much easier to be aware of what you have lost than to know what you will gain in the end. Like all pathways, the journey through loss turns corners you can’t see around until you get there.
I have known some big losses in life – the death of a brother, both of my parents to dementia (you can read about this in my newly-released book, Unravelling: loving my parents through dementia) and some ongoing health challenges. But as we work towards moving out of the home we have lived in for 25 years, in a community where I have spent three quarters of my life, I am struggling with the approaching loss. This is a loss that draws closer each day, quite different from the unexpected losses of accident. Changing house and maybe having to move to a different community are not the worst of losses (though they rate right up near the top of those charts of stressful life events). Somehow, though, the slow approach is uncomfortably like exam day – it looms larger the more you think about it.
Some of the ways I am learning to work through loss and the
fear of loss are:
- · acknowledging it. Pushing it out of my conscious mind doesn’t remove the feelings, it just ignores them.
- · appreciating what I have now. It’s a conscious act of gratitude and appreciation, dwelling on the good things I have enjoyed in this place.
- · accepting that a sense of loss can exist in the same place as hope. I don’t have to feel only the sadness; I can, at the same time, feel excitement about future possibilities.
- · allowing loss to be part of a process that results in gain – new home, new community, new shops, new places to walk. It’s easier to live with pain when you expect it to be temporary (or at least to become less intense).
When we like something, we don’t want it to change. But nothing in life stays the same. Some of the people in our lives come and go, and those who remain change with experience. Trees die and new plants take their place. Our perspectives change as we live through different seasons of life. Even buildings and roads age and need to be modified. Change means loss and gain. Living through loss is a skill we have to learn and practice all our lives.
Do you have strategies for dealing with the pain of loss and change? I'd love to learn from your experience with what helps you 😊.
