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It’s not an easy subject, but it’s one we all endure sooner or later. When death arrives, we must face those uncomfortable feelings of loss and grief. It’s bad enough when it’s an expected death, worse yet when it’s not; when the grim reaper comes by surprise to upend your life. The worst yet is when tragedy strikes repeatedly without leaving you a chance to catch your breath. This describes the last year of my life.

I thought I had lost so much when a thief ransacked my property, stealing all of my valuables and things I had worked on for years. Now I look back at that time with nostalgia as I had not yet lost the things that are most precious to me. In the late autumn season, a highly unusual storm decimated Western North Carolina and the people’s way of life here. Friends lost their properties, their businesses and many lost their lives along the rivers when a torrent of biblical proportions–over 40 trillion gallons of water–barrelled down these mountains, taking everything in its path. This moment was shocking, but not yet nearly the worst for us.

Just as we started to recover our utilities and our lives, my pregnant girlfriend and I fell ill due to some emergency prepared food that contained E. coli. Only two weeks shy of his due date, little Walter lost his heartbeat, and our lives were shattered.

As friends and strangers grieved with us and showered us with love, the path forward for my partner and I became uncertain, tainted by the sharp sting of loss. Thank God almighty we were both able to find some sort of deeper understanding, knowing that souls live on, even when they leave our bodies. So, although we cried tears of sorrow, we held onto love, knowing little Walter’s soul can serve a higher purpose above the limits of this material world.

As we rested our weary hearts, we made a new friend and lost him only a month later. His name was Cory, and he was a sweet, gentle soul who carried the burdens of this world on his shoulders. In his familiar attempt to escape pain, he lost his life and tested our will once again.

I recall spending time with him upon a rooftop, admiring a fresh new mural about overcoming tragedy. It was all joined together like in the Japanese custom of binding broken ceramic with gold, an appropriate metaphor for healing. Although the grief will always be there, we can bind together the pieces of our broken hearts with love. We can honor our absent friends by living well. And we can be present for our loved ones when they need to grieve.

Any grieving parent knows that healing is not a straight line. It’s more like a roller coaster. But if you still have breath in your lungs and a song in your heart, you can turn those tears into compassion for others, and we can help each other through the darkest of days. The odd consolation of it all is that we are not alone. Our pain, although specific, is not unique. Pain is pain and grief is grief, whether you lose a relationship, a job, a prized possession, a relative, a friend or a child. Your pain is valid and you need to feel it fully so you can bind the pieces back together with love. These feelings are uncomfortable and difficult. I certainly never wanted to be the one to talk or write about them. But if my words can console you in your grief, then it’s worth it. If I can overcome my losses, I know you can too.

Even though grief never truly ends, overcoming our own tragedies can help others overcome theirs. It’s one of those things that usually remains unspoken. But I find that words can heal. That’s all I’m really trying to do here. If we are alive, then we should cherish those we love and be compassionate to those who challenge us. Our time will come one day too, but until then we have a chance to be there for others just as others have shown up for us. We’ve got to “get busy living or get busy dying”… and since we are still here, I suggest we live fully and generously. It’s what makes it all worthwhile.

Just a few thoughts to ring in the new year. May yours be full of life.

Matthew