Loss and Narrative

If someone has experienced loss, that typically means death, or other finalities such as divorce. Loss means a complete slice-off from one reality to another and there is no going back.

This is maybe some of the clear definition I talked about longing for in my last post. Here are some losses I have experienced, but for which I have been slow, reluctant, and unsupported in naming these as losses, in chronological order.

1. My dad moving away and ending participation with my life, vaguely, while he and my mother both pretended that he was still part of my life - age 8.
2. My mom ending marriage with her second husband, a stepdad I never loved per se but whom I had let into my life in a real way for the last five or so years - age 14.
3. My mom's stroke that did not end her life, but changed her forever. Her old life ended completely and then there was the re-acquainting with a new, very impaired but a lot nicer mom - age 19.
4. Andy's gradual, confusing, and co-dependent-with-me descent into complete dependence on other people, depression, and alcoholism - age 28-38.

It's hard to define something as a loss when no one else perceives it as a loss. But for me, these are clear losses. Is it important that I articulate this or carry these losses with me externally, they way someone would have to with a "real loss"? For me, I struggle with the inarticulation, though I'm not sure I should. I guess it gets back to my classic struggle with yearning for clarity and permanence while also believing clarity and permanence don't exist.

I feel guilty with thoughts I have indulged over the years about Andy or my mother dying. In a way, for me, death would finally clean up the narrative with these two individuals. It would help convey to everyone just how serious these situations were, which is a very selfish but honest feeling. The thing is, people understand death. People do not tend to understand brain problems because brain problems can vary so much. What does a stroke mean? What does depression mean? These can mean millions of things. If I talk about my mom's brain problems or Andy's brain problems, I have to start mapping out all these exhaustive details to help explain what these situations mean to me. 

I love the clarity of when I say statements like, "This is my son," or "She is a friend I've known for 20 years." Everyone knows what these things mean. People do not know what, "My mom had a stroke" and "My ex really struggles with depression" mean. 

This is part of why I'm doing this blog. I need to define my complexities. Shadowy nuances are not doing it for me any longer.