I don’t handle death well.
I have always felt uneasy with how to accept the fact that someone or something was just there, only to realize they’re suddenly gone. In my head, I can still feel their existence, but ultimately it’s now just a simple memory. It’s hard to accept that it’s real.
Once whatever it is leaves our life, everything shifts; life changes without their presence. And for us, it’s time to let go and move on.
But damnit, it’s hard.
Death. We often associate it with someone’s life ending – someone we loved, who was taken from us when we weren’t ready to let go. But when we finish certain chapters of our life, that’s essentially death too. When we move, when we start fresh, when we end relationships, quit jobs, and delete our emails, text messages, and clear our inbox of old conversations – it’s all a variation of death. And all of it, in it’s big and small circumstances, is never easy to grasp.
In the past (almost) 9 months of my life – transitioning from Vancouver to Calgary – I’ve been holding out on death.
Once I moved here and over time, friendships and familiar sights were starting to become distant memories. Strong connections that came with physical touch and in person experiences slowly started to fade into simple words via text or email, with the exception of special circumstances in a phone call or a FaceTime video – but even then, there’s no warmth to feel on your skin.
I no longer had a vast, seemingly endless pool of salt water to rely on when my soul needed soothing. I was smart enough to bring some with me in a small glass jar that sits on my bedside table, but even it’s lost it’s zest and has simply become a dirty jar of stale, murky water.
The more time I spent navigating my way through the city of Calgary and familiarizing myself with frequent and favourite stops here, the pieces that I loved about the city I grew up and spent most of my life in became simple figments of my imagination, memories, or pictures and thoughts.
Slowly, day by day and as the months went by, Vancouver – as I had known it for so long – was slowly dying. And rather then let it go, I held on tightly to absolutely anything I could that could keep even a little bit of it alive.
Because, who am I without my identity? I’m a girl who was raised in Vancouver and has solidified an entire tribe there; it’s where I hold a lot of my favourite memories. And although winter’s chill is slowly taking over Calgary as we near December, I insist on finding comfort in wearing my favourite local Vancouver brands and rocking the leggings and flip flops look while I shiver.
Physically, I’m here in Calgary and doing just enough to make it feel as close to ‘normal’ as I need. But realistically, I have been desperately holding onto everything that made me feel safe – people, memories, objects that remind me of comfort, familiarity, and a world where everything makes sense and I don’t feel lost or alone. I put a mental block on embracing where I live now in an effort to prevent the ‘death’ of “home” that I miss so hard.
Change – even though we know it’s inevitable and we accept it – is scary. Being afraid of change, fearing the unknown, and looking for protection is part of what makes us human.
But so is death.
Without trying to sound depressing, the truth is that everything will eventually die. Whether that be a relationship with someone we love or a place we call home, or both – there’s an end date to everything. As time goes on, we grow older and wiser and we learn new things that cause us to switch gears. The same happens with scenarios, environments, and situations that we put ourselves in. We change and where we are changes, and in the process life thrives and dies while the world keeps spinning.
Sometimes it takes an hour, a day, a month, a year. Sometimes it lasts for several years or almost 100 years. But eventually, there will come a time when we and what we know will stop.
I know, I know. It sounds so awful to say it out loud. I’ve talked about it too many times in the last few days, and it never gets better to hear the truth. Even accepting the reality of all doesn’t make it easier, and when it happens again (and again, and again) it probably will feel the same.
But what we sometimes forget, is that death and letting go offers an open space to discover something else. Not necessarily to replace what you shared with someone or what you experienced, but to just add to your list of wonderful moments; to give yourself new life and a fresh start and a warm reassurance that there’s always something more out there than what we already have right in front of us.
When someone dies, we appreciate the contribution they made in our life. We reflect, we absorb the good and learn from the bad, and we use their presence as inspiration to be a better version of ourselves. When an experience ends, we use that experience to fuel our future – we learn, we grow, we move forward.
Again, I make this sound so easy. But it’s not.
I know from so much experience.
I made this crazy decision to move to Calgary almost 9 months ago. I wanted the job, the new city, the adventure that came with it, and I still do – but I initially got caught up in the excitement and forgot about the scary parts. I forgot about all the changes – big and small – and the sense of loneliness. I forgot about getting lost, how much it costs to start new and meet new people and just enjoy a new city. I forgot all about the hard parts about moving to somewhere new, until they all came rolling into my life at once and I freaked out.
Sure, I dived right in… but I found myself a safety net just before I hit the deep end. I wasn’t ready to be absolutely vulnerable and totally uncomfortable in unknown territory. So, I clung for security and a constant reminder of home to fill the void in my heart.
But, nothing lasts forever – remember?
Eventually, my security blanket started to unravel until it couldn’t hold me up anymore. And one day (actually, just days before I wrote this all out), a small tear in the seams got in the way of one of the universe’s sharp edges and everything fell to it’s ultimate death.
Because that’s how life goes.
But with every end, there’s a new beginning. And even if you lose your way or lose your identity in the process, you’ll eventually find your way back or even find a new journey. And yes, I know you’re rolling your own eyes because I’m making this sound so simple…
It is, and it isn’t. I get it, because it’s where I am right now.
In Vancouver, I know who I am. I have my people, I know my way around, I fit in and it makes sense. In Calgary, almost everyone is a stranger and I have a hard time remembering what’s it’s like to ‘just be’ me. When I moved here, a part of me got left behind (I’m sure I left it somewhere near the ocean) and I just don’t feel myself.
It’s weird. It’s uncomfortable. I don’t like it, and I don’t really have anyone that absolutely I trust with my heart and soul to properly remind me of who I’m supposed to be.
BUT, maybe… just maybe, that’s the point.
I’m allowed to be sad, to miss home, to feel a little lost and lonely and homesick and scared. I’m allowed to fear the unknown of tomorrow in this city, and mourn the loss of that sense of self that Vancouver always provided. But I also have to accept that ‘death’ for what is and see this for what it really is.
Whether I needed a fresh start or not, this is a brand new opportunity. It’s a chance to learn from mistakes, to revise my plan of attack, and to create a better version of me. Not that there was anything wrong with who I was before this all fell to pieces (for the 100th time) BUT there’s always room for improvement.
With every ‘death’ we experience in life, there comes an opportunity for discovery. We can reflect on how that person, that experience, that thing impacted us and how we can use that tomorrow, next year, for the rest of our life. We never have to forget about who or what it was that left us that little void in our heart, but we can recognize that there’s now a little bit of extra space for someone better and something a little bit more wonderful.
Admittedly, even a shift of perspective doesn’t make death easier to manage, but that’s okay. Mourning the loss is part of the process, and eventually – with the right perception and attitude towards the whole thing – we can all move along.
I’m still not good at accepting death’s reality, but I’m getting better at remembering that although one form of existence has ended, I’m still here.
Which counts for something. So, I might as well keep making the most of it.
Right? Right.
