When we lose someone special to us, we note that they will always be in our hearts. And they are. We carry them with us wherever we go.
But they take a piece away from us as well. Their passing leaves one less person in the world who remembers our personal times and spaces, who witnessed our struggles and celebrated our victories. We lose stories–it’s hard to reminisce when our partner in crime isn’t physically present to chime in with their perspective of the narrative. Inside jokes fall flat; the one who “gets it” isn’t there to laugh, and nobody else knows what we’re talking about. We’re left to safeguard precious memories on our own.
The future is impacted, too. It doesn’t look like we thought it would. We lose the ability to hash out worries and hopes with a person who was always part of the scenario. We can no longer bounce ideas and solutions off someone whose insight we valued. A main character available to us in every vision of our future … isn’t.
The person we lose takes not only a part of our shared experiences with them, but a reflection of who we were in their eyes. Nobody else saw or will see us in quite the same way. Nobody will infuse us with the same energy or recognize the same potential in us.
We’re often reminded that our loved ones will always be with us and that we will see them again. Sure, but this isn’t that essay. This is the pissed-off, bewildered essay. What we lose is irreplaceable, and attempts to soften the loss sometimes feel pat.
I do know one thing: our person is gone, but for some reason, we’re still here. We still have the opportunity to radiate the essence of who they were. Did they bring joy? Clarity? Were they generous with their emotions, appreciative of the gifts others brought to a situation? We can still fill the void in both our hearts and the world with energy sourced from this. Emanating positive power won’t bring our person back, but it will reflect the best of not only who they were, but who they believed we could be …
…which may be the reason we loved each other in the first place.
My mom passed in 2007. Still, how many days I wish I could share with her some special joy, or something I’ve done that would make her proud. But my separation from her and so many other loved ones in this too short life seems less poignant when every tear will be nothing but a memory and every joy shared throughout eternity.
Hmm. The swirl of daily (or at least regular) interaction can mask the deeper impressions a big friendship or love can leave, which only absence can reveal, maybe. Which does sound a bit like whistling in the dark: absence still sucks.
Welcome back, by the way!
It’ll be no surprise that I’m really feeling this. Just today I had the impulse to call my sister for the name of something only she would know, and I felt a painful little jolt of remembrance.
Oh that’s so painfully and poignantly true.
Maripat, you were on my mind when I wrote this. I know you know.
Thank you, Bob.
Thank you for this, Joe. I’m glad you’re finding comfort.
Thank you for commenting, Kristina.
Beautiful Words.
Thank you for the kind words, Robin, and for taking the time to read and comment.
Lovely piece, Jill. X
Thank you, Elizabeth XOXO
I see you. Beautifully articulated. This last paragraph is the essence of having his memory be a blessing. Sending love.
Love your honesty. Everyone reacts differently to loss yet your words sum up grief perfectly.
Thank you, Lauren.
Diane, thank you for sharing your thoughts. It makes me happy when something I write resonates.