loss

How often we lament the things we have lost and so very rarely stop to praise that which we have found...

I find myself moaning about things I have lost over the past decade. THINGS I have lost that have meant something to me and are now gone. I whine about a ring I once loved that fell off at a concert. I cry about a passport full of stamps, records of my travels, that was stolen from me. I complain endlessly about the favourite pen, the perfect lip gloss and the comfortable socks all misplaced in the black hole that is my bedroom.

And then there is real loss. The loss of a family member or a friend. The loss of someone who has touched your life in a way that no one else has or perhaps ever will. Someone who has been something for you and will never be there again. These are the losses I find myself least willing to talk about, yet they are ones that ultimately spend much more time in the active part of my mind.

I lost my 17 year old cousin to cancer when I was 13. I knew what cancer was and I knew that people died from it, but when she got sick I always thought she would get better eventually. That we would grow closer as we got older and that she'd guide me through my teenage years the way a big sister would have done, if I'd had one. And then I suddenly realised that there was a chance she wouldn't make it... so I did the only thing that I knew how to do in a situation about life and death: I went to church.

I went to a special church in Montreal and lit candles for her, I went to our regular church in Toronto and said prayers with my family, I even found myself saying special prayers whenever I saw churches. I didn't know what else to do and perhaps foolishly, thought that all the praying I did for her to get better would actually make her better. I guess I didn't really understand the concept of prayer and didn't understand that it was more a way for me to find strength to deal with the situation and to accept what was going on around me and somehow seek guidance for the road ahead,. Thing is, I didn't want to face that road ahead with or without guidance if it meant that my cousin wasn't going to be around to face it with me.

I lost my cousin when I was 13, and before ever really having a chance to experience religion as a young adult, I abandoned any interest I had ever had in religion and lost my faith right then and there. I was never a very religious person beforehand, but I know I used to believe in something... I know I used to see some good in going to church and appreciated the support it seemed to offer to my family and friends who cared about it. But when prayers didn't help my cousin to get better and when praying didn't help me to feel better about the situation, I lost it.

The funny thing is that at 26 I am still bitter and still angry that my cousin died, and I guess the fact that I am angry that all my praying 'didn't work' indicates that I must still believe in something. That I must believe in a higher power that could have helped her, but chose not to. That I must believe that there is someone or something governing our lives down here and making choices about who should live and who should die and when. I don't know what I believe these days, and I don't know what exactly I lost in terms of faith... but I do know that the loss of my cousin shook me and things inside me haven't settled yet.

I guess moaning about losing an old ring isn't as hard as thinking about how much I miss my cousin every day.