Missing People That Aren’t Here

Recently, I have been feeling like the polarity of the world is off-kilter. It’s a familiar feeling for me—when my father passed away, from one day to the next everything was wholly different. I feel like screaming out “This cannot be the reality we’re living in!” in the middle of my local coffee shop, as the other customers go about their business, the employees smile and make drinks, and I stare at the donuts and imagine eating them all to quell my constant and growing anxiety.

And now, the holidays are upon me. For years they have been a time of joy and sadness for me. I am blessed to get to spend time enjoying the family I have, and I remember those who are no longer alive.

I miss my father. I miss his laugh and how he would speak his mind, no matter who he was talking to on which subject. I miss my Grandma Fowler and the way she always looked at me with love overflowing from her eyes. I miss her apricot fried pies and her raspy, beautiful voice. I miss my Grandpa Larsen and his quiet strength.

There are a lot of people I miss and who I wish could be with me tomorrow.

“Pass the peas.” “Gimme some of those homemade rolls, wouldya?” “More pie, please.”

I can see them all at the table, in my imagination. They’re all with me—I don’t have to break bread with them to feel their love. And luckily, we are still connected and I can recall my memories of them anytime.

I need to remember that they’re with me and that they are supporting me. I am embarking on a bold, life-changing adventure, everyday—just by living. And they know it, because they embarked on it, too. Crazy little thing called life.

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