Live, Thrive, & Be Vulnerable: Loss

**Note from the author: At first I began writing this story inspired by the memory of my dear friend Logann. Then, I got news my mom-mom was in the hospital (update: she is doing well). This week was a tough one for me, but it really influenced me to keep writing and enforce the message that this story conveys. Life is too short, and not often enough do we show gratitude for the loved ones that surround us.

By-Traci Taylor
February 2015
Live, Thrive, & Be Vulnerable series

In life the only guarantee given is that it eventually ends. Despite knowing the inevitable, dealing with losing a loved one is never easy. Every day after that person is gone from this earth, things begin to seem a bit duller. Certain things that may be reminders of a brighter time now leave a lump in the throat and salty tears streaming down the cheek. At the time it feels like nothing but a darkened sadness. Eventually it’s easier to look at the reminders as ways that the ones that have left still live with us within memories. Death is not something simple to cope with, it’s permanence that is hard to face.

When I was younger I lost my great Uncle John and I don’t remember much about his death. I was a kid that couldn’t comprehend the significance of loss yet, and then it only meant feeling sad when he was no longer there to joke with on Christmas morning. As far as I know he had died from old age, I was no older than five when he passed. Being so young I didn’t yet know the impact of what living life after a loved one is gone really felt like.

For all the obstacles I have faced this year and the strength it has taken me to get through it all doesn’t even compare to the pain that takes over from losing someone. I was never able to meet my dad’s parents, they had both passed away before I or any of my sisters were born. He still talks about them a lot, and his face lights up with a smile every time. Sometimes being able to remember the happier times filled with laughter make not having the ones no longer around even the tiniest bit easier.

The second time I lost someone close to me was harder, and I was only a few years older. I still remember the last afternoon I got to spend with my pop-pop before he passed away from pancreatic cancer. I was eight years old and he took me up on the Wildwood boardwalk to play miniature golf, and afterwards grab soft pretzels and water ice. Even then I was still too young to know the importance of the moments I had left with him. Overall I’m not sure there is an age where it gets easier to cope or be aware when to cherish every minute with loved ones.

For awhile I considered myself lucky to not have had to deal with the process of losing someone I was close to. Just being around people dealing with the grief and pain, I feared having to know what it was truly like. Losing my pop-pop was hard, but at age eight I didn’t truly know the meaning of overwhelming sadness. Intellectually being aware that death is a part of life doesn’t make the emotional devastation of loss any easier. Some losses in life just stick with you and alter the way you view the value of it all. That’s what Logann’s death did for me.

I was twenty-two years old in my last semester at college and it was the morning after the Super Bowl when I read the news that my childhood friend passed away. When I first woke up that morning I had a persistent knot in my stomach, and the moment I read on my newsfeed that Logann was gone cold shivers rushed through my whole body. I was in utter disbelief.

The one person that could light up an entire room with her smile had just lost her final battle to addiction. It had been years since I saw her, but even the memories of her are still colorfully vivid in my mind. To this day I am filled with regret that the last time I did see her it was through a window of a convenient store and I didn’t bother to say hello. She was working at the cash register, and I wish I had known in that moment it was my last chance to see my childhood friend. Life has a twisted way of teaching the hard truth on how to be appreciative of the people that mean something to you.

To this day I am unsure of how many lives she was aware she brightened with that golden smile and contagious laugh. Every day that passes I still stumble upon certain things that remind me of Logann. She was my right hand lady at the first job we had at Sunset Beach and those memories I still hold dear to my heart. The truth is, in a way I looked up to Logann and I never saw those demons she was struggling with I only saw the “force to be reckoned with” exterior. The reason I suffered gauging my own ears wasn’t for some “hipster” fad, it was because Logann had plugs and somehow convinced me to go for it. Her extraordinary free spirited attitude was the thing that I admired most. I never knew another side of Logann other than the ray of sunshine that had the ability to brighten anyone’s day.

Two years have passed since she has been gone and it’s still a hard concept to grasp. Losing someone to an addiction is a double edge sword. In a way there is a relief that the person you love is no longer fighting that unbearable load of horrific demons. On the other hand, that person you love is no longer a phone call away when all you want to do is hear the familiar sound of their voice.

Day by day I am finding it deep within me to live for the memory of the ones that are no longer here, but have impacted my life tremendously. Being almost four months sober from alcohol I am beginning to live life with a bolder attitude. The people I have lost in this life are still very much alive in my heart.

Fairly often in life you are reminded that the only thing constant about it is that it changes. I’ve heard that phrase more times than I can count, and it’s probably the only lesson I remember from my science courses. As much as there is an awareness that things constantly change, there is never a way to prepare for the life altering experience of losing someone. It’s like picking up a beautifully structured snow globe, shaking it as hard as possible, putting it back down, and then looking into the same globe that appears to now be filled with a distorted image. Nothing is ever quite as picturesque as it once seemed, but life continues on regardless.

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8 thoughts on “Live, Thrive, & Be Vulnerable: Loss

  1. My Mom was killed by a drunk semi driver when I was 12, my best friend when I was 18, we were in a car accident, and then my big sister to suicide. You wish you could have a moment just to say something, or that maybe you could have done something different to change the outcome. Thank you for sharing your story, and sorry for your loss.

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