Before I even start, you probably already know this: “Life is a journey, and we are all bound to alight at some point.” The sad reality is that some people are forced to alight along the way, long before reaching the final destination we call “Old Death.”
If that’s the case, then what’s better?
To live a long, miserable, boring life, full of suffering, dying poor at the frail age of 80 — or to live fully, taste life’s “pleasantries,” and alight at whatever age fate chooses for you?
I woke up with a heavy heart today. This isn’t to complicate your life, but to seek your honest opinion. Because life — from the moment we’re born — is a story of attachment and inevitable loss. We come into this world knowing only our parents and maybe siblings, for those lucky enough. Along the way we bond, make friendships, and form relationships that entwine our feelings, our destinies. But behind all that is life’s undeniable truth: the sudden promise of death. It stalks every one of us, taking its toll long before it arrives.
Let me not drown you in introductions. Today’s blog asks one question: Which is more painful — losing a friend, a family member, or a lover?
You’re probably wondering why the sudden dive into something so sad, so unanswerable. But here’s the thing: sometimes pain softens when you hear other people’s perspectives. So bear with me — walk with me — and help me think this through.
Family
Let’s start with family.
And no, not the bloated African version where every distant aunt, great-grandmother, and cousin demands a piece of your soul as though you owe them your very breath. I’m talking about the ones that really matter.
Your parents.
Life — stripped bare — is a product of a man and a woman having unprotected sex and then choosing, or not choosing, to raise the product of their naked, messy moment. Yes, I said that. That’s the truth.
After birth, you’re introduced to your first love — your mother — and later, if you’re lucky enough that she’s not a “single-mother dickhead” (your words, not mine), your father. Automatically you become bound to them by blood. You survive on their resources, their guidance, their protection, until you start fending for yourself. As your tiny brain grows, so does your love for them — even if it declines later.
But here’s the real question: At what age does it hurt less to lose your parents?
Creation’s story says the woman must bear pain to bring you into this world; the man must toil and bleed to put food on the table. All this happens while you’re under their care. God designed humans to die at some point — maybe at 80, ideally. But this modern world takes life at tender ages without even respecting God. So let’s say your parents are God’s obedient servants. What would it feel like to lose them? Which age hurts less?
I’m not wishing this on anyone — but think about it.
Friends
While you’re growing, you realize something: nobody can do life alone. You might pretend you’re independent, but that’s a lie. Growth and survival demand connection. It’s inevitable. Friends, acquaintances, even strangers — they form the web that keeps you alive.
But let me define what I mean when I mention a ‘friend’ before you romanticize it. I know life has probably fucked you over enough that you now have your own warped definitions. Don’t worry, even mad men wonder why others put on clothes.
To me, a friend is “someone you meet, interact with more than once, and remember — someone whose face and story stick with you.” That shopkeeper who gives you salt on credit at midnight because you’re broke? That’s a friend.
But let’s be real. Think of that one friend you hold closest. Yes, that one. The one you’ve told your deepest secrets, your mistakes, your plans for the future. The one you’ve built a life around to the point of including your families. That bond feels unbreakable, doesn’t it? Sweet. I envy you. But loss has no mercy.
Lovers
And then there’s what “makes adulthood.” Society tells you a man must love and marry; so must a woman. Right? That’s what society drilled into your skull. But let’s be honest about what’s really at play.
Human beings have hormones. These hormones are like governments: they demand bribes and taxes. For men, it’s testosterone — a relentless hormone that dictates desire, pushing them to sleep with anyone they can get their hands on if given the chance. For women, it’s estrogen — dictating their own tides of lust and longing.
This hormonal game ensures men and women think about marriage almost as often as they think about death. When two people meet, grow interest, and choose to commit, they forge soul ties so deep they’re hard to break.
No matter where you come from, the truth stands: you grow attached, and when life’s eventualities strike, losing them feels like losing a part of yourself.
The End
So, after all is said and done, the question still lingers — which pain cuts deepest? Is it the loss of a parent who gave you life, nurtured you, and stood as your first home? Is it the loss of a friend, the one you built memories with and trusted with the parts of yourself you never show the world? Or is it the loss of a lover, your chosen soul, the one who feels like your mirror and anchor in life’s storm?
The truth, uncomfortable as it is, is that pain cannot be measured with the same scale. Losing anyone you deeply love tears away a unique part of you — a part that only they held. Each loss carves its own hollow in your soul. The absence of a parent feels like losing your roots. The absence of a friend feels like losing your wings. The absence of a lover feels like losing your heartbeat. None of them leave you the same, and none of them are less painful than the other.
But here’s the paradox of life: the very people we risk losing are also the ones who make life worth living. We love despite knowing the inevitability of loss. We bond despite knowing that someday, we will have to let go. That is not weakness — it’s our greatest act of courage.
So maybe the question isn’t which loss hurts the least, but rather: how can we live so fully that, when loss comes, the memories left behind are louder than the silence it creates? Because at the end of this journey, what remains is not how long we lived, but how deeply we loved.
If life is a journey and death is the final stop, then let it be said of us that we boarded the train fully alive — loving, laughing, hurting, healing — because that is what makes the trip worth it.