Most great losses
happen like an exhale:
unremarkable
and invisible.
We only recognize
their pleading faces
as they fade
in the rearview.
We only realize
in hindsight
the last time
we ran that fast,
hit that high note,
or stretched that far.
The last time
we drank too much,
stayed up too late,
and joyfully bedded
a stunning stranger.
We live thinking
there’s always a next time
and the best time
waits ahead.
But one day,
we suddenly lose interest
in that delirious joy
we swore
we’d never live without.
One time,
we say goodbye
not knowing
it was final.
One moment,
that guarantee
we relied on
and took for granted
is gone.
Our death phobic culture
tells us:
Don’t listen to your own eyes,
ignore that toothy knowing,
and disbelieve
the wind.
The dragon vainly preaches
to Always More
and Never Enough.
It is a false idol
causing tomorrow’s children
to shake their heads,
baffled and dismayed
we ever imagined
it was God.
Wiser,
they will know
what we forgot:
all great losses
happen on the exhale
unremarkable
and inevitable.
© S. Rinderle, August 2025
