Learning with Loss

Published September 10, 2007

By Rose Couzens

My best friend died the other day. Together since kids, she had worn many hats in my life—she had been my confidant, my unconditional provider of love, and even a mother-like figure. Her name was Darling and that’s exactly what she was—the most beautiful and darling cat a person could ever ask for.

Darling was eighteen when she died. I’m told that’s about equal to 126 human years, but the loss I’ve felt as a result of her death has only been compounded by the fact that she and I had been together for so many years. But what has really made her death so unbearably hard is that it marked the end of an era.

Darling’s presence had been a constant throughout the years I lived in upstate New York before moving back down to New York City; she had been there in the city for the seven years I lived with my grandfather before his death; she had simply always been there. As such, what her death really marks is something I fear most—it has signified change.

Change is something few handle well. It is a divergence from the status quo, and while for some the status quo may not be great, it is what they know. I have never handled change well. I am one of those poor few afflicted by the desire to look back at everything with nostalgia. The result is that the often boring or mundane events of the past can be remembered as brilliant experiences of an irretrievable youth.

I have never found myself thinking more of the past than I have since the beginning of the school year. As a senior, I stand on both the edge of my youth and the threshold of “real life.” As such, I should be looking towards the future, but when I do all I see is the looming threat of change. My fear of this is so great that I often find myself longing to stop time.

Dostoyevsky once wrote that man is a creature that can get used to anything. The truth of his statement is undeniable. We as humans are programmed to survive. We survive both great joy and great sorrow and do not crack down the middle when either is too great (although at times it feels like we may). Perhaps then it is not the change I fear but this “getting used” to it.

In getting used to change a person lives and memories are built, but time also passes. Thus, the paradoxical truth is that there can be no mundane memories to glorify if we do not accept change.

Whether this realization will make the future seem less looming, I cannot say. As of now all that is definite is that my friend is gone and time has not yet helped me “get used” to it.

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