EBLIS O'SHAUGHNESSY: So... who died?

LUCIEN: Nobody died. How can you kill an idea? How can you kill the personification of an action?

EBLIS O'SHAUGHNESSY: Then what died? Who are you mourning?

ABEL: A point of view.

This is the second brother I have lost, whispered Despair in her shadowy voice, and each of the listeners found herself or himself, or itself, giving an involuntary shiver, and it hurts.

I cared for him, very much. He was so wise; he seemed so certain of the rightness of his actions. And I, who do nothing but doubt, admired that in him. He was a creature of hope, for dreams are hopes, and echoes of hopes. And I am a creature of despair.

And her words moved over his listeners like a black wind blowing across their hearts; and in that moment each of them knew despair.

I think of the first Despair sometimes, said Despair. It must be over a hundred thousand years since anyone thought of her but me... An eyeblink, and she is forgotten. And you will forget: Death of life will take him from your minds. I know, whispered Despair, in her distant, empty voice.

But I shall remember him.

Sandman, The Wake​

[It is a little too close.]

There's a striking difference, I find, between the words gone and loss.

"So and so is gone."

"I have lost so and so."

There's an important difference in feeling. Things go missing. Things are gone for one reason or another.

People are not gone.

People are not things, and should not be treated as things. We aren't meant to collect them, to smile and polish them as they sit on our shelves, to take them down and play with them as we will and set them back once we are called for supper or we have gotten another toy that strikes our fancy.

Loss is a soul hurt. It's an ache that is acute at first and dulls with time. I don't know that loss ever truly goes away. Every once in a while there is a pang of loss, and it all comes rushing back in a tidal wave, and then it leaves as if nothing had happened. We have the memory of loss, and we brace for the feeling of loss, but nothing matches what we feel when loss comes back.

No amount of preparation will ease the impact of loss.

Loss is a feeling that leaves us pressed against the wall, standing on the tips of our toes, arms stretched and fingers splayed outwards... All in an effort to reach heaven.

All towards reaching what was lost.