I Miss You

Dearly Beloved,

I miss you.

It’s funny; I hardly know you, and yet your absence is the only thing I notice anymore.

There are other members of my family who claim that you used to come to dinner for the holidays. Even in the large crowds filling my home on Christmas, all I can see is the empty space you should fill. Some other members of my family say that you used to be at dinner more often, but then you got sick and stopped coming.

Most people think you never really existed, let alone that you could come to dinner ever again.

I know that you are real my love. I see you.

I see you in the smiles you give me when I am crying. I see you in the way you tend to those less fortunate than you. I see you in your great accomplishments. I hear you in the laughter which comes after the tears. I hear you in the encouragement you give to the littlest of souls. I hear your joy radiating outwards.

You touch my heart every day, and yet you do not even know that I love you.

My family friends saw you once. You went to dinner with them a few times, but the food did not settle well. Then, as you tried to reconcile your apetite with your new family, they discovered your sickness. They saw that you would not live long in their home, and so they threw you out. They left you out in the cold with nothing to eat or drink.

You walk past my home often, and each time I see you, my heart breaks. The eyes which once danced with hope are now darkened by the everlasting thirst on your lips. The body which once moved freely is now hunched over due to the hunger pains.

If I could feed you, I would.

If I could give you something to drink, I would.

But I can’t.

You see, my love, I am too weak to interact with someone who is as sick as you. That is what they tell me at least. They say that I will not be able to fight off the infection, let alone draw close enough to you in the cold to give you something to drink. I wish it weren’t true, but I have experienced this illness before.

No one wants to risk losing me for your sake.

There are times when I am just barely strong enough to go outside and encounter you. I dance down the city streets, completely unaware of the threat. The memory of my childhood illness disappeared. I am fearless, and I am more like myself than I ever before. My heart is at its greatest rest at home, but when I am outside, amongst the outsiders, I am alive.

I got to know you outside of my home.

We never sat beside one another at the dinner table, and yet I knew you had a place there. I knew in my heart that my seat belonged next to your’s. How could such little pieces of joy not belong next to the immature little girl who wanted nothing more than to smile at every meal and sing joyful songs with the ones she loved?

Your love, while broken, is beautiful.

Your sickness, while tragic, should never keep you out.

I met you, and I loved you. Your weakness did not scare me, because I too share in that weakness. I too doubt and fear and wonder. I too want the greatest accomplishments and talent. I too wish for more than I deserve. If anything, all I wanted in the world was to know how you learned what love looked like when you did not have a home wherein your heart could rest.

My hand went out, along with my heart, and you did not take it.

My voice went out, along with my life, and you did not want it.

When I return home from my little trips, my family looks upon me with pity. They know that I want to do so many things, but I cannot do them without you here. They know that I want to love and be loved, but I cannot force you to feel loved. They know that I miss you, but they do not want to meet you again.

The only ones who remember you are Mother and Father.

Mother calls me every day, and she reminds me to pray for you. She tells me that even though my brothers and sisters have cast you out, even though you never sat at our dinner table, even though you are sick, that you are worth so much more than you know. She tells me that Father loves you.

Father is a doctor. When I went out of the house for a long time and caught the terrible illness, it was Father who cured me. He knows that you and I have the same condition, so I am often told to pray for you.

With every prayer I love you more.

With every prayer I miss you more.

Each day, I sit at the dinner table in a long wooden seat in a dimly lit room. There are many rows of these wooden seats, and they all face one table. My brothers and sisters file in to their desired seats, not standing too close for fear of causing discomfort to one another. We exchange soft smiles and a gentle word or two, and then we begin our little ritual.

There is music and story-telling and jokes and laughter and tears. There is joy throughout the room.

In our joy, we miss the tragedy surrounding us.

We sit as islands of reverence in a sea of silent cries for help. Occasionally another island meets our shores, and we attempt to bridge these gaps together. I am part of an archipelago, the Newton Archipelago. It is beautiful, and it floats in a tight circle. 

There are many islands that pop up beside us, but there are many times that these islands disappear due to the storm around us.

No joy can distract me from the silence beside me.

You were supposed to be here, holding my hand. You were supposed to be here, giving me a hug of peace. You were supposed to be here, singing along to the simplest of tunes. You were supposed to be here, teaching me how to love.

But you are not here.

You, the one who believed that love could be real but lost it because of the cruelties of this world, are not here anymore. You, my family, are not here.

“Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.”

My eyes fill with bitter tears. Had I gone truly in peace, would you have taken my hand? Had I been filled with love instead of fear, would you have believed my story? If I truly glorified Our Father, would you have been healed of the illness we share?

My beloved, I wish I could have been a greater daughter. I wish I could have been stronger, but I was never strong enough to help you. Beloved, you are so incredibly loved. Mother never lets me forget you, and she helps me find you on the city streets. She guides me by the hand, and she helps me learn how to play with you. Then, as we play, Father comes to watch over us. We are safe when Father is there, but we do not notice the loving gaze.

But you can see me.

And I can see you.

And I love you.

Please, my beloved, will you come home with me?

Felicity