I have been thinking about death lately, and then I stumbled on an old post of mine on “Death and Dying” with this line from Norman Cousins: “Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside of us while we live.”
What dies inside me is not always the big stuff. It is often the quiet things: curiosity, courage, tenderness, and the habit of noticing small joys. Sometimes faith. Sometimes trust. Sometimes just the willingness to try again.
Grief can do that to me. So can my chronic ailments or a long season of stress. I keep moving, do the errands, show up. But the inner lights dim. Numb helps for a while. Stay there too long, and parts of me forget the way back.
Cousins is not dismissing grief. He is warning about drift. The danger is not only that a life ends. It is when the lives still here shrink. The danger arises when love transforms into bitterness. When wonder turns to cynicism. When purpose gets crowded out by plain busyness. That is the “greatest loss.”
So I try to keep what matters alive on purpose. I practice noticing. I name one thing I am grateful for before sleep. I call the friend I keep postponing. I take a short walk without my phone and look at the sky. Small acts, repeated, open the windows.
I protect courage in small doses. I do one hard thing today. I set a boundary. I ask for help. I say “I am not okay” out loud. Courage grows the way muscles do, when used and fed. Same with kindness. I offer it when no one is watching. Especially then.
I honor my dead by choosing what they loved in me … maybe my stubborn hope, my humor, my care for others. I keep those alive. I tell their stories. I cook their favorite dish. I light a candle and say their name. I let memory be a living verb.
And when meaning feels far, I borrow it. From service, prayer, art, or community. I sit with people who still know how to sing. I read words that soften me. If needed, I find a therapist or a group where grief is not something to hide. Healing is not forgetting. It is letting love breathe again.
In the end, this quote feels like a vow. While I still have breath, I will not let the core of me die. Not my capacity to love. Not my openness to joy. Not my responsibility to others. Death will come for all of us. Until then, I will keep the light on inside.
