Eric didn't use to "miss" me. He didn't really "miss" anyone; he wasn't wired that way. That didn't mean he didn't think of others, and it certainly didn't mean he loved me little. He loved me plenty, likely more than anyone else he would and could love.
I, on the other hand, used to miss him. That's how I was wired.
Now, I try not to miss him. I had loved this man with every fiber and every ounce of energy. Especially in the last few years. It was profoundly powerful. Suddenly, I had an epiphany. Instead of missing him, I need to turn the energy around. Instead of focusing on his absence, I shall let his presence comes through. I need to let his presence be my focus. His laughs, his silence, his meditation, our conversations.
I feel his presence in pretty much everything I do: Every loaf of bread I bake, every round of skate on Alki, every French press on Sunday, every time I touch my bow and arrows, every piece of music I play on the piano, every piece of art I create, while I am in any corner of my house, when I ask "what should I do."
I try not to "miss" him. Me missing him somehow implies that I am focused on the past, what was lost. He would not want me to "miss" him. He would prefer that I remember him, but not "miss" him. He would want that we apply what he has shared with us in our respective lives, in the best ways we know how. He would not want us to miss him.
Not "missing" my deceased husband, and putting it in writing. That is so controversial. And cold. But it's not like that.
It's about knowing that he is present.
Then I discovered something I never considered. What Eric and I shared was very powerful. What I learn and intentionally apply from our love is more profound.
My living may need to include not missing. And that scares me shitless…
|My dear friend Janelle's corgi, Abby|