On Missing Them

Last week, I started a book called "Songs for the Missing", and I absolutely knew that it was going to break my heart.

I was right, but not in the way you would think, not even in the way that I thought.

The book is about a missing girl, and the way her family deals with the fallout of her going missing, and simply about them missing her.

The situation is certainly heartbreaking, but what broke me was what I read between the lines. Her Dad was my undoing, because he reminded me of my Dad. His name was even Ed. He was a tireless individual, doing everything he could to find his daughter. He would have done anything for his family, the way my Dad always did.

Time going on was also my undoing. The missing girl's younger sister grew up, time went on. Everybody moved on. Time marched on.

Time marches on here, too.
Ella will turn 14 in a few months.
11 days later, Josie will turn 3.

In July, it will be 2 years without my Dad.
On my 37th birthday, Grandpa Bruce will have been gone a whole year.

Time marches on, but it only takes a memory to make it stand painfully still.

One whiff of Caress body wash, and I'm immediately back in grade school, in my Dad's house.
One taste of an Alpine strawberry, and Ella and I are visiting my parents in 2016, following my Dad around his garden, while he shows us everything.

All I have to do is hear "Faded Love" on a violin, and I'm in Grandpa Bruce's living room, watching him play.
Every time I make potato soup, I can still hear him tell me that it's not really potato soup unless I add carrots and celery.

Tonight, the memories are too much. I'm doubled over, crying.
I spent so much time as a loss Mom, who grieved the babies she didn't get to know.
I couldn't imagine how hard it would be to grieve two people I knew very very well. There are so many memories. So many reminders. So much that can absolutely wreck me.

One thing I learned from missing my babies is that there is no easy "over" here.
There is only through.

On snowy nights like this, when I cry for the two men who have shaped my life so much...I have to cry. I have to allow myself to feel this, even if it's terrible and frightening. Because it won't ALWAYS be terrible and frightening. It won't ALWAYS be so dark. I know there's going to be a day when I can look at pictures of Dad and not miss him with such despair. There's going to be a day when I drive past Grandpa's house and not cry.

Until then, I live my life. I hang tight to the fact that as long as someone is missed and loved, they are not really gone. I live the best parts of them and adhere them to my person. I honor their memory.

In that way, they are eternal.