Missing Someone

Missing someone is a strange but powerful part of life. Some days you miss their wisdom, others their presence. You miss the way they did things and you catch yourself saying the weird things they did that once upon a time made you roll your eyes. My favourite is, "I see, said the blind man." Which was a saying my dad used to use. Worse, when someone mispronounces a word like them, you find yourself smiling, because it's a reminder of how human they were.

You think about the things they didn't get to do or see. And so, because you miss them, you do these things for them, as if that will somehow bring you closer to them or perhaps give you closure.

You drive to their grave and stare at it, tormented by the fact that nothing is right with it. Not a thing. This is not where you should be visiting.

You gather all these pictures in a folder that remind you of them, but looking at them is hard so you just hold the folder like some idiot, hoping it will help.

And you don't shed a tear because it's not just pain causing you to act this way but love. And the two emotions conflict so you just sit there numb wondering when was the last time you laughed.

You have anger. It can't be explained or even properly directed. It just is. And when someone points it out you growl because words can't explain it.

The way you see religion and afterlife changes. If you were raised with these beliefs, you will need them now. Others will share their beliefs. In these moments, all of it is helpful and uplifting yet so useless and terrifying.

Even though you're happy others are there with you, this little void is inside you remembers the one you miss, as if they left with a part of your soul and forgot you needed it. Or maybe they need it wherever they went.

When you miss someone, everyone else falls into three categories: those who have no clue what to say so they walk away or deepen your pain, those who care so much your pain is suddenly theirs and you're comforting them, and of course, those who you NEED around you, for no particular reason or wisdom, you just do.

There is the life before you missed them and the life after. Not sure how that happens, but it becomes a moment in time like you were reborn with their death and when that day rolls around each year you find yourself another year older in this new life with still no grasp on how you survived so long and no clue if that other life will ever return. Perhaps you're comfortable in this new role. And with that is a realization about just how easy life was with them in it. Easier. For so many reasons. Still, looking at your actions, your words, your writing, your everything, nothing was the same after that day. You can physically see the imprint it left on your life as if the book you were writing ended abruptly and another began.

When you miss someone, you feel their teachings seep in at the strangest moments and you listen out of respect.

You talk to them when they aren't there, not because you're crazy, but because what if? What if they were there for just a moment and you missed it?

You find yourself drawn to others who grieve as if someone has answers.

You think about the moments of their life and death, giving them purpose and reason.

You live  your life with more energy. More passion. More questions.

You wonder if they would even recognize you, if they came home today, because the person you are today is so different than the person they left.

Or maybe that's just me.

What do you find yourself doing when you miss someone? How do you use that powerful emotion to push you forward instead of tackle you down? What things have others done to help you, or that you have done for others?

4 comments:

Richard Hughes said...

That's a powerful post, Tanya. Makes me think about my feelings for my father, who died three or so years ago. I often think about what he would think about the political chaos happening in our country, a country he fought for in the Pacific in WW2. I also think about the many things he did for his family. We know a lot of what and who we are is a result of our interactions with our parents. We hope we've been half as good as they are or were. Thanks for making me think about this. Happy holidays, and happy New Year.

Elizabeth Varadan, Author said...

My brother passed away twelve years ago, and I still miss him. He was crazy about old cars and model cars, and every time my husband and I see an old car or a small model, we both find ourselves saying, "Oh, Nathan would love this!" Other things, too.

Tanya Lynne Reimer said...

Thanks, Richard. Enjoy those precious memories. You're so right, our parents have great influence on who we are.

Oh Elizabeth, what a wonderful memory of him. Hold on to each one.

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