Lost your love?
I’ll tell you a secret. You lose people, not love. We all love people who died. Your love for them does not die until you do, and then we’ll say, oh, but how he loved his mother! And your love will still live, although you and she are dead.
What you need, what we all need, is the means to face another day that will not ask for courage like a soldier in battle, nor daring like an explorer heading into the unknown, nor love like the day your mother dies, but just another day, maybe gray. It will ask you to work in an ordinary job with minimal accomplishments and to eat another meal that is not a feast: an average day that counts for little and yet must be lived.
We lose days and people. Our lives unfold, tending toward average. And yet we can live extraordinary days amid irreplaceable people by giving what was not asked: courage and daring and love.