Oneshotted

Recently I was made aware of a new term doing the rounds in the online world.  The term is oneshotted, or oneshotting.

This is a term that has come to us from the world of computer gaming, and particularly the first-person-shooter variety of games.  Shooting someone, be it another competing player, or a non-player entity that one still must kill or destroy, is sometimes more complicated than it is in real life.  Of course, in real life, one does have to make sure that the shot, or shots, hits something vital, like the brain or heart, or a major organ, or a major blood vessel.  Or that you shoot a sufficient number of times to hit something crucial.  But in the gaming world, you are not always shooting with a firearm, and sometimes the gun, or sword, or wand, or poison spell, has a certain strength rating, and that has to be compared against the strength rating of whoever, or whatever, you are trying to kill.  (Or destroy.)

So, it is a matter of some skill, in terms of aiming, and some knowledge of the parameters of the game, in order to kill, or destroy, something with a single shot.  One shot.  So, if you "one shot" someone, you are a skillful player in the game.

Then, there is the other side.  If someone kills you, with one shot, you have been careless, or possibly unlucky.  Or, possibly, you are a newbie.  And you have been oneshotted.

This term has moved out of the realm of shoot-em-up games.  It has now spread into social media.  And, generally speaking, it refers to some, usually sudden, event in your life, which changes your life forever.

As one of the bereaved, I definitely, and immediately, understood this concept.  I've even talked about it, elsewhere, as a sort of grieving quantum life.

I should say that, in general online parlance, "oneshotted," or "oneshopping," is generally a negative term.  Something has happened to you, and it makes it difficult for you to go on with your life as it was before.  Sometimes it is impossible to go on with your life as it was before.

Once again, in terms of grief, I definitely understand this concept.  Your person has died.  The world is no longer the same.  The person that you talked to, went to, discussed things with, could expect support from in any situation, has died.  The world is not the same.  Some of the battles that you face, sometimes on a daily basis, may be the same.  But you no longer have the resources to face them.

I definitely understand that.

But, as with any experience of grief, people react to the loss differently.

Yes, for some people, the loss is a loss, and it is a fatal loss.  If someone else doesn't pick up the slack; if you can't find a support resource, and quickly; well, you just can't survive.  That's what it feels like, and, in all too many cases, that's what it is.  Your life is, actually, over.

But people do react differently.  And, of course, not all losses are equal.  I lost my wife.  I lost my best friend.  Since I was also her caregiver, I lost my job.  I lost any semblance of schedule in my days, weeks, and months.  I lost the person that I most wanted to talk to in any situation.  The person that I had to discuss things with: whether they were movies, hockey games, or newscasts.  I lost all that.

But, of course, different grief is different, because different relationships are different.  When Gloria's mother died, Gloria had grief bursts for ten years thereafter, and even longer.  When Gloria's father died, she grieved, but not with the same intensity.  In the case of my parents, I didn't grieve that much for either of them, because our relationship simply had never been very close.  Not when I was a child, certainly not when I was a teenager, and not when I became an adult and started my career, and then married.  My parents and I were never particularly close, and so, while I did grieve over them, it wasn't earth-shattering.

When my father died, my mother didn't grieve all that much.  It didn't make that much of a change in what she did.  Different marriages are different.  The relationships are different.  Gloria and I had to make contact with each other pretty much constantly.  We had to talk, at great length, about whatever we learned, or encountered.  I have seen many many other marriages where this is not the case.  Where the couple live together, but have different interests.  They sleep together, they eat together, they raise children together.  But that togetherness isn't particularly close.  One has one set of interests and activities, and the other has a different set, and very few of those sets intersect.  So, when the one dies, the other will probably grieve, yes, but not extensively. And it doesn't completely change their life.  They haven't been oneshotted.

But others have.  Their life is completely changed.  *My* life is completely changed.  I am no longer writing books.  I am no longer teaching, at least not in any traditional sense.  I am not taking care of Gloria.  I am writing sermons, which I never did before.  I have started an intensive, and in-depth research into grief itself.  I am experimenting with providing three different, and fairly unique, styles of great support.  I am doing a great deal of volunteer work, with a great many organizations.  Yes, I have done volunteer work pretty much all of my life.  But I didn't have as much time for it while Gloria and I were married, and even before we were married I wasn't doing as much as I am doing now.

So my life is different. When Gloria died, one of my colleagues informed me that now I had the opportunity to reinvent myself.  My response was that I would pass on the opportunity.  But that ship had sailed, and, yes, I did know what he was talking about.  I am still trying to reinvent myself.  As far as I'm concerned it's not working out very well.  But I'm trying.  I've been oneshotted.  My life is over.  I am trying to, not rebuild or reinvent my life, but to build a completely new one.  So far, I don't like it.