Sometimes it’s because their time in this life is done. They go, like my father did, into that place where we can still feel their presence but only in a certain new way that’s never quite enough.
Sometimes our time together goes short, though we planned on it being much longer. A handful of people in our circle left us this year; the kind of people who lived for the collective experience and cared so broadly and deeply.
This kind of selflessness is not easy. It is a labor. They labored for us.
It’s not always death that separates us. Sometimes it’s circumstance. People leave when there is an opportunity or a challenge they have to work through. It doesn’t always feel that simple, but that’s because love is a depth.
It’s the holiday season and absences are more profound. Little reminders lay in our cabinets and recipe collections, on shelves and altars we’ve crafted from respect and yearning.
We find the sweet (and sometimes bittersweet) place-holders of friendships gone dormant.
This year I’m reflecting on the space held by mementos…tangible bits of relationship. Who has come, who has gone, and who do I share my days with now?
What lovely days have passed! And what healing is still underway?
It’s different this year. Too many loved ones are gone. The space is heavier.
I’m thinking about my friends. And when I think of you, in your swirling grief; somehow still celebrating these lost ones, I take a moment to sit with that quiet feeling that comes–these quiet moments.
We’re hanging more lights this year to ward off the weight of distance. If we are still here, there is much to celebrate. My only wish for all of us, is more moments when that is accessible. Much love.