This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
The topic of loss is never easy to discuss. Having recently lost two important people in my life, I felt compelled to reconcile my emotions through writing – both as a form of self-therapy and in the hope that it might resonate with others who are navigating similar experiences.
I write this on a gloomy spring day, with the lively backdrop of birds chirping and cars rushing past, their sounds filling my room. Beside me sits a photograph of my beloved grandparents, who tragically passed away within two months of each other. Resting atop the photo is my grandfather’s mechanical wristwatch, purchased in the late 1930s or early 1940s. I am proud to have inherited it. Its loud, mechanical ticking keeps both memories and spirits alive, while its tattered case and scratched glass serve as quiet reminders of the experiences both it – and he – endured.
Losing my grandparents marked my first encounter with loss within my immediate family. My initial reaction was disbelief – a surreal sense that it couldn’t possibly be real. Yet, reality quickly sets in. While you feel frozen in time, life continues around you: deadlines still loom, emails still need answering, responsibilities still demand attention. Condolences are offered and appreciated, but the world inevitably moves on. Meanwhile, rooms once filled with life – now still – feel like suspended shrines, packed with memories and relics of the lives that touched them.
I believe you never truly “move on” from the loss of a loved one. You learn to live with it, to carry it forward. As Marcus Aurelius reminds us:
“…[A]gain, your leaving of them should not be any wrench from life, but rather that easy slipping of the soul from the body’s carapace experienced by those dying at peace.”
Marcus Aurelius, along with many Stoic philosophers, believed that death is not something to fear, but something to accept – embracing the ethos of Memento Mori. This line, pulled from a much longer meditation, reminds me that my grandparents – the good, moral, and selfless people they were – lived lives centered around family and service. They instinctively understood that life is much larger than oneself. Their generation taught us that the truest measure of a life is found not in what we accumulate, but in what we give.
Though their passing is devastating, I find comfort in reflecting less on their absence and more on how they lived – and how we, too, can strive to live: with humility, service, and love. In today’s world, often marked by overconsumption and egocentricity, the lessons of past generations feel more relevant than ever. They taught us that less is more; that true wealth is found in presence, laughter, forgiveness, and gratitude; and that a meaningful life is earned – not simply given.
