Stoics are, as I am finding out are of little comfort to those suffering from loss. My brother has passed, “what has happened?”, my brother has passed and that is all. I keep repeating Epictetus in my head over and over, allowing myself to remain a calm puddle in amongst the turmoil around me. But I cannot transfer this to others. My “wise” commentary on death just feels harsh and unforgiving and I seem distant and unfeeling. This is the true reason we do not discuss philosophy with others. Not for reasons of image but that it takes work for someone to frame it correctly.
This is what is needed to preserve myself, that you must shut the door and tend to your own impressions and watch others wander in the darkness outside. I love them, I care for them but I cannot cry and wail for them or with them. I remain calm and reasoned.
And for this I am alone. I grieve but I am happy.