Missing

Love and loss – two words so easily said, alliterative, seemingly made to tumble off of the tongue and to spill out in front of the listener.

All things, they say, must come to an end. Nothing lasts forever. They will always be in your memories.

And maybe those people that make up that mysterious they are correct. All of these missing persons will be in my memories until I have no more memories. Until the veil between this present and the future is rent, and I step forward into a space with no definition, beyond my current comprehension. And we are simultaneously together and together again.

For now, I am alone with my thoughts. I am here, holding space for the dead and the long-lost-to-me. I am strong and weak, making attempts to hint at my grief without burdening those who can’t understand or who understand far too well.

I dance around the subjects and questions that I want to ask. “Do you remember how he laughed? How she loved flowers? Do you think she would be proud of me? Do you think … do you think that they remember me like I remember them? What are they doing now?”

And the tears flow. They mix into my coffee and cocoa as a strange sort of flavoring. One pump or two? If you don’t stir it well, you’ll taste only the grief at the end.

They wouldn’t want you to cry. They would want you to be strong.

I remember. I remember the way they made me feel. The wisdom, the lessons they tried to impart to me, the confusion, the kindness – rich like caramel cake icing that none of us were ever able to replicate. I remember the unintended slights, mistakes, and the friction between us as we all grew older and changed. But I mostly remember the moments of peace, the vivid colors that they brought to my life.

It always comes in waves, forward and back like the tide. Look toward the horizon. Don’t look back. Don’t stop. You have to move because the tide is coming in. If you sit with your grief here, it will overwhelm you — the current will take you places that you can’t return from.

I want them back so badly, but I never dream of them. I plant my garden, but they will never set foot in it. I listen for their voices, but I only hear pale echoes of common phrases.

I take another breath, and another; I center myself in the present one more time. The grief recedes, but never completely disappears. They are missing. They are gone. I am here. I will carry them forward with me. I will add another stone to the mosaic.