Life and Loss

When walking the halls at the University of Michigan Health Center as a patient a few years ago, I happened to glance at the wall. An old photograph (presumably, based on their white coats, of medical students from the year 1900 or so) startled me and I stopped to examine. A particular pair of eyes in the photograph, for some reason, seemed to stare right at me, talking to me through the years. I was struck by the concept that if I had met him in person walking down that hall, we would smile, say hello, and go about our day without a second thought. Instead, this person lived 100 years earlier.

Eventually I continued down the hall, but the image stuck with me. I considered this: the person in that photo, who was every bit as real as I am now, experienced the very same things that I experience today. Happiness. Sorrow. Excitement. Frustration. Love. Loss.

Life.

Why do we think that our lives are so unique? Why do we allow ourselves to feel so alone (which we all do, in some way or another) when in fact so many others have felt exactly as we feel today, regardless of what that feeling is? The basic human experience is the same. Yet, somehow, that knowledge fails to give comfort in times of sadness.

Today marks the three year anniversary of a friend/mentor's death. It feels impossible and it still feels wrong. It's still very sad. I am sure his children, parents, nieces, and siblings feel alone. And nope- it really doesn't help to think about all of the people over the course of the world who have lost people they cared about. It doesn't help to wonder what those eyes staring at me on the U of M wall experienced in his life, whether he lost friends. At the end of the day,
we are born alone, we die alone, and there are times along the way that we just feel alone.