Sadness is everywhere I look lately. Death is everywhere. It keeps happening, to people I know and people I don’t, and people I know, and people I don’t, teeter on the edge of it, and sometimes they fall in to where it waits, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes my friends have friends and relatives who die, or almost die, or who are dying, and I wonder how much more unremitting sadness there can be.

Lots more, I’m sure.

Have I told you my theory? I’ve heard that we’re only given as much as we can handle, but I don’t believe this because every day people are given more to deal with than they can handle, and how is this fair? I think we’re given what we can handle plus some more, just to make sure we get stretched to our utmost limits, even if some of us snap with the pressure. This isn’t a good thing, but it is what it is. If I had answers I could write a book and make a fortune, but all I have are questions.

No one ever said it would be fair though.

But here’s what I try to remember when bad things happen to people. I remember how in Stew’s last days he would smile at me, and in his eyes there was a light that could only have come from his soul. I remember how he would look beyond me, sometimes, and he would see something that no one else could see, and it made him happy.

This could have been because he was mentally ill and had been off his meds for quite some time, but I don’t think so, and not just because his visions were usually of demons and did not leave him smiling. It was more than that, it was a peaceful calmness that even I could feel, and I am not particularly tuned in to anything. It was serenity.

There’s one thing we all have in common, whether we like it or not, and that one thing is that each of us is going to die. For many, it will be too soon, for a few not soon enough, but it’s never at the right time, because there never is a right time for death. We can’t know when it’ll come, and by the time we know it’s coming we may be relieved, or we may curse whatever it is we believe in for letting it happen to us. Doesn’t matter, in the end, for we’ll still die anyway, and we’ll still leave behind people who don’t want us to go.

I don’t know what happens when we die, because I’ve never died. I do know that the pain of our passing is worse for those left behind. However we go, once we’re gone we’re at peace, one way or another, and the sadness isn’t ours (speaking as one of the dead, which I’m not, but I’m trying to make a point here), but belongs to those who are still living. The living must carry the burden of our death, and they’re the ones who must come to grips with the loss.

So don’t feel sad for the dead. They’re not the ones we need to worry about. We’ve done all the worrying we can about them while they were here. Once they’re not here, they’ve left the need for sadness and pity behind, and it’s up to us to carry on however we can, and if that means feeling sad for ourselves, then by all means, do so. Just remember that it’s for us, and not for them.

During the grieving stages we can try to remember to live for the small moments that taken together make up the whole of our lives. Happiness doesn’t always come from big shining moments, but can also come from the comfort of feeling the sun, the joy of a loved one close by, the furry dogness or catness of a pet, the feeling one gets when putting on a pair of shoes that fits just right, the double rainbow off in the distance, the light hitting the clouds just right, just enough for us to see what heaven might look like, if we were inclined to believe in it. It can be anything at all, but it might be so small and innocuous that we miss it altogether. We’re so used to the common that we forget to look, and then we forget to be thankful for each tiny facet of our glittering lives.

But it all counts. It all matters, and it’s all a piece of going on and making a life for ourselves even when we’ve lost someone close to us.

Every little piece of it is something important, and if there are pieces in there that hurt because they remind you of someone, that’s okay. Keep those close, and in time you can feel the joy of them again, and still keep them connected to the one you lost.

There’s always more little pieces to collect. I’m going to make a giant quilt out of all my little pieces. Metaphorically, of course, because I haven’t the skill to make any kind of quilt at all, but I’ll imagine it in my head, if that’s all right with you. And in my quilt will be pieces of everyone I’ve lost, and I will use this quilt to protect me from the unknown.

You can make whatever you want with yours. Just remember to collect the pieces and keep them close.