My mother died of metastatic colorectal cancer shortly before

Opening Scene

The room is softly illuminated by the warm glow of a table lamp, casting gentle shadows as the evening unfolds. Outside, the city hums quietly, its usual pace slowing as the night settles in. Jack sits at the table, lost in thought, his hands resting on a journal. Jeeny stands near the window, looking out, her gaze distant, as though reflecting on something deeper. The mood is quiet and contemplative, as though a conversation about loss, time, and the profound moments in life is about to unfold.

Host: After a few moments of silence, Jeeny turns from the window, her voice steady, but tinged with emotion, breaking the stillness.

Jeeny: “I came across a quote by Meghan O'Rourke that really resonated with me. She said, ‘My mother died of metastatic colorectal cancer shortly before three P.M. on Christmas Day of 2008. I don't know the exact time of her death, because none of us thought to look at a clock for a while after she stopped breathing.’ It made me think about how we often lose track of time in the most important moments of our lives. In times of grief or great emotion, time becomes almost irrelevant. What do you think about that? How does time change when we’re experiencing loss?”

Jack: “That’s such a powerful quote. It’s a stark reminder of how time often loses meaning during moments of deep emotional significance. When we’re grieving, we don’t think about clocks or measurements of time. We’re just caught up in the experience itself, in the loss, the shock, the emotion. I think Meghan O'Rourke is speaking to something so universal — how we often stop noticing time because we’re so fully absorbed in the moment of sudden change. The details of time almost fade away when something as profound as loss happens.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s as though time stops, or at least warps, in those moments. The finality of death is so overwhelming that everything else — like the ticking of a clock — just seems irrelevant. I think that’s part of the shock of losing someone close to you. You’re not thinking about time, because your mind is just processing the enormity of the event. There’s this sense of being suspended in that moment, unable to grasp the passage of time in a traditional way. And I think that’s why sometimes, after something like death, it can feel like the world is going on, but we’re still in that place of disbelief.”

Jack: “Right. It’s like time becomes fluid in those moments. We might have lost track of the clock, but it’s because we’re in a space where everything is so raw and immediate. It’s not until later that you realize how much time has passed, how much you’ve been processing in the midst of all that. And I think that’s what makes the experience of grief so unique — it’s not linear, and time doesn’t function the way it usually does. In a sense, you’re living outside of time while your mind and body try to catch up with the enormity of the loss.”

Host: The conversation deepens, and Jeeny moves closer, sitting across from Jack. Her voice soft but reflective, she continues.

Jeeny: “And I think that’s why moments like this are so hard to talk about. We don’t have a way to measure the impact of those moments, because they transcend time. It’s not just about the moment of death; it’s about what happens after. How does life continue when we’ve lost someone? How does time feel in the days that follow? That’s something that Meghan O'Rourke is getting at in her quote — the way our perception of time shifts so dramatically in the face of loss.”

Jack: “Exactly. The absence of time, in a way, makes it harder to process. It’s like everything around you is still moving, but you’re not. The world goes on, but you’re stuck in that place of grief, not even aware of how much time has passed. It’s one of those experiences where the depth of emotion overshadows the markers we usually rely on to measure our lives — days, hours, minutes. Grief, in that way, makes us feel disconnected from time.”

Jeeny: “And I think that’s why it’s so hard to move forward after a loss. It’s not just about dealing with the absence of the person; it’s about recalibrating your entire sense of time and reality. You feel like you’ve been left behind in this space where time doesn’t make sense anymore. And yet, at the same time, life keeps moving, and you have to find a way to exist in it without feeling like you’ve lost track of everything around you.”

Jack: “Right. It’s the struggle of having to reorient yourself to a world where the clock doesn’t stop for you. You’re trying to make sense of everything in the midst of grief, and that’s where time starts to feel like a foreign concept. You’re not focused on it anymore, but you’re also trying to find a way to live within it.”

Host: The room grows quieter, as though the weight of their reflections has settled between them. Outside, the world continues its rhythm, but inside, Jack and Jeeny share a deeper understanding of how time and loss are intertwined. The passing of time, in the face of grief, becomes something both distant and present, a reminder of the changes that happen within us.

Jeeny: “So, maybe the lesson here is that grief changes our perception of time. In moments of loss, time doesn’t follow its usual path. Instead, we’re suspended in a moment where the clock doesn’t matter — it’s just about the experience, the emotions, and the process of coming to terms with it.”

Jack: “Exactly. Grief has its own rhythm and timeline, and it’s not one that fits into our usual understanding of time. It’s about learning to navigate that new sense of timelessness while trying to keep going with the world around you.”

Host: As the evening continues, the conversation wraps up with a quiet understanding. In moments of loss, time becomes something fluid and ungraspable. We may lose track of it as we process the enormity of grief, but as life moves forward, so must we. The experience of losing someone is not just about the passing of time; it’s about the way time feels different in the wake of that loss.