Since we have no bastion against the nothing, we must fight by ourselves, fight against that giant emptiness. Hiding in the attic because you're scared of a bully is a fine start but getting caught in a story that is moving is better. In this story, this fight will not lead us to answers but if we are lucky it will lead us all the way through and out of the swamps of sadness.
The mistake that he made, and by he I mean me, or maybe us, that time before, was that we were afraid we wouldn't be able to save anyone else. That we wept as they died, that they saw our despair and then our cries of love were not enough. All around the world people lose treasures every day: precious belongings, friends, memories, rights, hope. Here's what I think we do, I think we have to acknowledge that loss happens, that we have lost some and we will lose more, forgive ourselves for crying, weep if we want to, but not give in to despair. I think we have to not say: This is too hard for you. I think we have to keep pulling. I think we might have to sing happy songs and put a little pepper in it.
I'm not trying to be sunshine; it's not my nature. The Rock Biter opens his hands to find his friends gone again and again, we have lost so many more than we should have and more still, already more than any quilt can keep warm, even though they looked like good big strong hands. And yet what can we do but continue to imagine a world where things are better until we have enough hope to work for it. What can we do except tell ourselves stories of triumph, and then come down from the attic and fight back.