Scars on the Heart

At some point in life, we’re hit with the most brutal act of existence: being forever deprived of someone we love. Never again will we laugh in unison, surrender in the comfort of their company, or enjoy the countless other mundane interactions that end up being what we miss the most.

Sure, intellectually we know every hello is an eventual goodbye. But in reality, we live under the illusion of the everlasting. Doing otherwise is just plain uncomfortable. We would have a hard time going about our necessary routines if we were constantly aware that every one of our cherished relationships would end in death. Even if we are somehow able to go from the initial impermanence-induced anxiety to an appreciative acceptance, loss hurts… a lot.

In grief, we become shells of ourselves, shells that crack into millions of little pieces as we sit bewildered at the mess, wondering if we’ll ever put it all together again. We are deafened by the soul-shattering cacophony of pain. Eating, sleeping, the most basic activities become Herculean tasks. Amid this horror, we ask, what can be the purpose of all this?

Why do we grieve, evolutionarily speaking? How did it help our ancestors survive? Each of the other emotions seem to have a beneficial purpose. Happiness promotes bonding and connection amongst people. Fear triggers a fight or flight in dangerous situations. Anger prepares us to overcome perceived obstacles. Even sadness provides us a cue to slow down, reassess, and make changes.

 What makes grief so insidious is that nothing can be done. You can’t bring them back, no matter how loudly you scream into your pillow. The only way out is through. And it’s a leech-filled swamp with a barbed wire tunnel that the current drags us through at its own pace. The sheer helplessness amplifies grief’s intensity.

There are some theories as to why we experience grief. Some believe it encourages us to form strong social bonds. When we lose a member of the tribe, we grow closer to the remaining members. But grief can be experienced in a vacuum. If anything, it heightens our feelings of isolation and loneliness. Even if we do grow more empathic in loss, this is often short-lived and not a compelling enough reason to justify our debilitation.

What if it has no purpose? Perhaps grief is not something to be understood in terms of function but rather as a byproduct, like a hangover after a memorable night out. Perhaps grief is the price we pay for love. Love, which has many evolutionary benefits, lies at the heart of all successful tribes, from the Sacred Band of Thebes to the modern family unit. If we wish to survive, we must care for one another, and deeply. This is as clear now as it was when we were hunting mammoth and slaughtering Neanderthals. The quality of our lives is dictated by those we love.

Can we really expect to experience a bond as intense as that of a mother toward her child without paying some sort of tax, without having it all balance out? It’s an intrinsic contrast in the human experience, where the peak of our affections is mirrored by the depth of our sorrow. In the echoes of every lost laughter and in the silence of every space once filled by a loved one, we recognize in every pang of grief the richness of love.

The word vulnerable comes from the Latin “vulnerabilis” which means “wounding”. If there is no greater act of vulnerability than loving someone, then grief is the scar left on our hearts from the open wound of love. When we tally up our scars, let’s treat them as proof of a passionately lived life.