It’s when you turn around to catch someone’s eye but they’re looking the other way.
When you reach out for a hand that you’ve always held just to find that it has disappeared.
An image in color that’s now black and white
A memory so faded all you can see is the dark stormy sky.
Sometimes I look at a photo of my dad, who has been dead over four years, I tap the glass and still expect to hear a smile or a joke
I listen to old voicemails and pretend I’m looking into his face – yet over the years it has blurred and pixelated.
My mom died in 2010 and I still sometimes check her Facebook wall, or read what she wrote to her friends about playing word twist.
Loss, as an experience, isn’t unique it’s ubiquitous.
Yet there is no reprieve from loss.
It visits like an unforgiving storm. Sweeping through our lived experiences.
Today my eyelids feel heavy and my heart feels like there is someone sitting on it. As cliche as that imagery may be, is cliche for a reason. It’s true.
My grandmother’s voice on the phone, ten minutes ago, was leaden and heartbreaking. I could almost hear a tiny tear in the corner of her eye as she told me that my grandfather had died just a few hours ago.
I hesitated. She asked why I called and I couldn’t think, my brain was foggy. So I said that I was calling to see how she was and she said she was fine. She sounded scared, as I would be if my partner for over sixty years was gone, in a blink of my eye.
It’s was hard to watch someone slip away, especially my grandfather.
I was quiet on the phone because I didn’t know what to say, I let the pauses speak.
Finally, I told her that I loved grandpa so much. I will miss him.
She said she did too- and I hung up.
Silence.
End.
Loss.