I’m an owl, and I’ve been around endings for a bit.
Mine usually involves a very surprised vole and a swift conclusion. It’s called the Circle of Life. Very efficient, although it requires some emotional processing.
There are bigger endings than the ones I facilitate.
At the very bottom of the ocean; places so dark and compressed that even my feathers would immediately regret the journey, life is scarce. Nothing grows there. Nothing moves. Until a whale dies.
When a whale dies, it sinks. But when it hits the floor, it doesn’t disappear; it becomes something else entirely. That single body feeds glowing creatures, strange beings, entire communities for decades. Seventy years of life bloom from one great ending. What looked like emptiness becomes a city.
Nothing is wasted.
I’ve noticed this happens to people, too, but you don’t usually use marine biology to explain it.
When you lose someone you love, it feels as though the biggest presence in your personal ocean has vanished. The water feels colder. Heavier. Nothing good could possibly grow there again.
But from my branch, where I observe carefully and judge silently; I see what happens next.
The person is gone, yes. But what they gave you does not float away.
It sinks.
Their humor, their steadiness, their courage, their infuriating belief that pineapple belongs on pizza (I remain concerned). All of that sinks into the ocean-floor of your heart.
At first, it’s chaos. You can only feel shock. And then gradually, something begins to form.
You find yourself using their strength on days you would have otherwise given up. You speak their kindness without realizing it. You make choices that feel weirdly supported as if you’re being held up by something solid below you.
What was once loss becomes sustenance.
Over time, the grief changes shape. It becomes part of the structure of who you are. You don’t notice it every day; but you’re standing on it. Living it. Building on it.
So if it feels as though the greatest presence in your life has gone silent, remember the whale. It’s not gone. It has simply changed roles. It no longer swims beside you, but it supports everything below you.
That is not the end of love.
That is love, enduring.
Now please breathe, I seem to have gotten some tears on my feathers and also there is a mouse near your left shoe.
