Missing Them More…

When my parents first died their physical absence was uppermost in my mind.

I thought about them daily and was acutely aware that they were gone and all that was left were the ends to be tied up and put safely away in a box, or a closet, or a heart.


I was able to mourn them, unhurried, for two long years.

I took my time, savoring the sting of loss, recapturing the old worn memories of my childhood hero,


gently pouring myself into the mold they’d left behind that I had spent most of a lifetime shedding.

I lived in their house, ate at their table, sat in their chairs, listened to their music met their neighbours, went to their church and paid their bills and taxes.

I had comforted them, supported them, laughed and cried with them and worried about them…

Later I organized their funerals, threw their wakes, sold their properties and arranged their interments.

I gave up my life for a season…and I was glad I could.

When it was over all I had left was a handful of ashes, a few photographs,


some china and silver, their wedding rings,

And a lot of time on my hands.

At first I was acutely aware of the gap they had left in my life.

But gradually,

Like an unhurried icicle melting on a bleak midwinter’s day,

Four years passed.

The wounds have closed around a knot of sorrow and in the crush I find myself reaching for the phone as I wake up in the morning,

Aching to tell them of an owl that hooted in our woods and haunted my dreams.

The words tickle the tip of my tongue and jostle with each other in a rush to spill the silly bit of news…

I pull my hand back with a start and wonder how I could have forgotten?

I miss them more in the sweetness of the early morning before I am fully awake.

As I float to the surface of awareness I see them wandering quietly around their seaside home…

Holding hands,


Listening for the phone to ring…

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2016-01-25 15:33:28 Reply

Beautiful Sentiments! I miss them as well.

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