I think we all react differently when we lose a significant part of our lives. Like tearing off one’s own arm, sometimes we confront the pain head on. We acknowledge the suffering and, rather than conquer it, make peace instead. Other times, we let it sink into the back of our minds, not necessarily festering, though one might say the thoughts migrate to a place we’d like to forget, but can’t. It’s like putting something in the attic. Sure, it’s no longer front and center, but we all still know it’s nearby.
When I suffered my loss, a loved one with whom I spent more than a few years under the same roof, I took the latter path. It isn’t worse in any manner of speaking, but doing so let’s one understand his own temperament.
In the Dr. Who universe, to attain the title of Time Lord, you gaze into the untempored schism. In reaction to something so vast and infinite, you either become inspired or run away. The Doctor ran, but retreat didn’t prove him incapable of doing great things, nor did it mark him a coward. As well, those who deal with loss by way of retreat are not weak individuals.
Human beings are not time lords, but our minds and temperaments are as diverse as they are complex. We exist as finite beings with limits to our powers and no single method of dealing with an issue is necessarily the most correct. No hurdle in life is leaped in exactly the same manner and no accomplishment is without regret for what could have been.
I looked back at her last days. They were filled with fear and joy and tired eyes, though more than anything else, regret. Knowing it was her time and still wanting to accomplish so much more. So many roads left untraveled and a life she hardly had a chance to share with anyone. The thought of that feeling makes my throat swell as I recall her shaking in the hospital bed. It’s worse than what comes after, I think. I will not forget about her and I no matter how far I run, I will strive to live a life without regret.