The Exquisite Grief

IT hits you sometimes, and the strangest things will bring it on. And then all of the sudden, you are right there, a vessel of grief, as if time has completely stopped and you are right there again. That is what happened to me the other morning, as I poured coffee into my mother’s favorite coffee cup, like I had done hundreds of times before. Coffee was our tradition. Every time I visited, when I was ready to go, I would load up my car, then always come back inside for one last cup of coffee before left.

During that last of coffee, we would talk about all kinds of things – hopes, dreams, plans, thoughts, the drive, remembering to call when I got home. There was lots of laughter and advice, and just good old fashioned conversations.

And when I poured that cup of coffee the other morning, I was suddenly acutely aware of how much I missed those coffee conversations with my Mother, and how much I missed her, even after almost 5 years. And I cried, right there over and into her coffee cup.

And the moment was exquisite in its grief, because you can only miss that which you loved.

Hi Guys

Hi Guys,

Mom and Dad, I love and miss you so much, more than words can say.

I have been doing everything to take care of the estate.  We had buyers for the compound then two weeks before closing hurricane Michael cam e through.  It didn’t destroy the place (thanks to your incredible design and insistence that it be build beyond code Dad), but it did sustain damage.  Contractors are working on it. I have no idea what I am doing, but think I have navigated it pretty well.  I hope you are proud, and I hope I have done things up to your incredible standards. Thank you for teaching me such integrity.

When I go there now, I see glimpses of you and Dad, but I don’t feel you there anymore. I think you guys are off dancing somewhere else in the universe, happy to be together. And I think you come back to visit when I am there, but you do not stay. After all, there must be so much to do in the afterlife. And I am sure that you are the social butterfly you always were, Mom, Making friends and laughing where ever you go  And Dad, I know you are just happy to be with her, warmed by the light of her. So many people have and are helping me because of how much they loved you guys.

In a way I wonder if the hurricane was when you guys decided to leave the compound, use it as your exit. Mom, the gardens you made were destroyed, but most of the fruit trees made it. I guess in a way this makes it (emotionally) easier to sell, which is a blessing in it’s own way.

The family is a mess, if you can say it even exists at all.  I have tried to put the siblings back together, but some things cannot be unbroken. And so I accept that I am alone.  The cousins have been wonderful though, even though I have not had time to talk to them much.  But they are very loving and kind.  They are my last connection to you Dad and I want to keep those relationships going.  I plan to see them all this coming year.

Mom, I cannot believe it has been almost 2.5 years since you passed away. I don;t know how I have done all of this without you.  Accept I know you and God have been guiding me. I feel you so close sometimes, that I almost feel like I could reach out and touch you.  But I can’t. I wish you would visit me more in my dreams. And I love when you and Dad give me signs, like the rainbow yesterday.

As hard as it will be to finally sell the compound, I am looking forward to the closure.  You guys know how hard this has all been and how long it has taken to handle everything.  It is time for that closure and for me to live my life, finally free. I am planning where to go and what to do after it all settles down.  I am thinking of what I want life to be for me. I am not sure what it all looks like yet, but there is time.

The holidays (I think) will be easier this year than last.  Last year was rough. But that first year always is. I am ready for it now. And I am taking a friends advice…I am not making it about family, but about love and friendships and laughter and making good memories. I will be with friends who, I am learning, are our family of choice. I wonder if you ever spent a Christmas alone like I did last year, Mom. And I wonder was it hard for your too?  But this year is different.

I used to hate the idea of time passing without you guys. I still hate it, but I cannot change it, so instead I am learning to embrace it more.  I look forward to not being able to say “My Dad died last year.” Because it means that I am moving forward like I know you would want me to. Like I know that I have to. I know that the best way to honor you, and to honor God, is to find all the Joy that life can hold.  And I will.  I will make this life spectacular. All the while, never forgetting that it is your blood that flows through my veins, my beautiful, beautiful parents.

I am going to decorate for Christmas like crazy this year. Two Christmas trees and ALL of the decorations. I will sit and be warm in the glow of everything Christmas and feel close to you both. I will not only embrace the holidays, I will choose to flourish and be  love. And if I don’t have family around, then I will make my own world with all of my friends I love and who love me the most. Life can never be the same, but I can choose to make a life where I am happy and loved.  If we write our own lives, then I can do that. If I don’t feel like I fit in or belong, then I will create my own world where I do.

I still listen to your voicemails, and they make me smile. I never want to forget the sound of your voices. Please keep watching over me and guiding me. And I hope that I make you proud. I have tried very hard to have Grace, but still be tough when needed. It can be a hard balance sometimes. Somehow both of you mastered it, and I hope to one day as well.

I hope you guys are happy where ever you are. And I often wonder, when I look at the moon, if you see it too from your view? Or are you magnificent stars, seeing the moon for yourself? Do you get to see the world, like you always wanted, traveling a new wavelength we cannot yet understand here on Earth? If so, I bet it is spectacular. Or, are you angels, helping just like you did here, just in a different way?

Know that I love you so very much, more than words can say. I honestly don;t know if I love you or miss you more? I carry you with me always. ee cummings said it best. Love you guys, always.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

 

 

 

The Service and a Pillow

I have long known that a funeral or memorial service is more for those who are left than for the person who is gone.  A good funeral is the last thing we can really do for our loved one. It is the last send off, the last honor, the last “right” thing that is left.

And so it was with my father’s memorial service this past weekend.  The church service was beautiful, an Easter service of celebration. He passed away on Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, one of his most cherished religious seasons. Dad respected Lent as a time of quiet introspection. And he had made peace with his situation, so it is fitting that this Lenten season is about grief and grieving.  Forty days to reflect on the past 7-8 months. It is as if he knew. And maybe he did.

At the service there was the family including all of my siblings.  It was truly wonderful to have us all together along with aunts and cousins. My three longest and best friends were there for me, sitting behind me to give me strength, catch me if I fell or make funny faces at me if it looked like I couldn’t make it through the service.  They are the reason I could breath.

And when the service was close to and end, the Honor Guard came, played Taps and presented my father’s flag to me.  If you have never seen that presentation, it is beautiful.  They march out, at attention, then Taps is played.  When that is done, they slowly, silently, purposefully, unfold and refold the flag.  Every movement is crisp and marked by a click of their heels. And when the flag is folded, and they give the proper respect to it, they march, at attention, and kneel down to the next of kin. They say thank you, on behalf of the President of the United States, and of the country and of the Air force (or whichever branch).  I sobbed. I  gently accepted his flag as tears ran down my cheeks.  And my tears fell on my fathers flag before I could get a tissue. That flag is sacred to me.

And then the celebration of life, and the stories and the beer and the food.  I heard the food was delicious and what little bit I ate definitely was.  I spoke, as well as several other friends and family members. And I learned a few things about this humble, quiet man I called Dad.  There was laughter, there were a few tears and there were a lot of hugs and much love.

The siblings got together afterward, along with  my Angels, and we had a great time talking and taking time to decompress after the last several days.  And there was a lot of wine.

And then there was quiet.  And there is still quiet. A silence that is a bit uncomfortable as the finality of the situation sets in.  They are really gone.  And life moves forward. But what life is this that lay before me?  For the first time in 8 years I am taking care of only me.  And I am not sure I know what to do with myself.  One part is very liberating – knowing that you have done right by your parents and loved ones. And another part is terrifying, not remembering what you did before.

It is the blue after the storm. That time after the service, after the commotion, after the shock, after the after…where things are quiet and you are left to figure out the “new normal.” No doubt I will be fine, as everyone goes through this at some point in their life. But it is unsettling and strange.  A person is still delicate in this time.

There was no quiet after Mom passed; it went straight into Dad moving in and me taking care of an elderly parent. It was chaos for 7.5 months. So this in new. And if I am honest, it is a bit scary. The empty nest…but I am sure I will find my way, awkwardly as always. But eventually I’ll get the hang of this thing called life. The fact of the matter is that they are gone. I am here.  Life is here.

In the meantime, as I learn to sleep alone in the house, I am wrapped up in the peace and knowledge that I did right by the Bible and honored my parents. When they are gone, having done right by your parents is the most comfortable pillow in the world.

Six Months

Six months.  That is not a long time in the grand scheme of things, yet a is a lifetime of heartache, tears, reflection, struggle, confusion, anger, loss, grief…I felt each heartbeat of you not being with me in the lifetime of six months.  I still cannot fathom that much time without you.

But there has also been joy. First little glimpses, then moments, a little longer sometimes, and maybe even a day here and there.

And now I can finally say I think I am getting the hang of this life without you. And that makes me sad in a way.  Because I never want to be used to life without you, my mother, my best friend.  But I have to. It has been six months and I have to get it together.

I feel you though, everywhere. And that helps.  But I still miss you more than I thought possible.  On those days when I don’t feel you close, I just whisper to you that I need a sign…and then there it is.  And I feel your arms around me.

I love and miss you exponentially. I think you would be proud of me, of the past 6 months, even though it has been hard.  You raised me strong and to survive no matter what.  And that means without you.  More than anything, I know that is what you want.

I know you have things to do where you are.  You always stayed busy, helping others, so why would you stop now?  Somewhere along the way, I am sure you have found a need to give of yourself and help another.  We will be Ok here.  Do what you need to do. Just visit and show me you are still around. And know that there is so much love here for you, always.

I carry your heart with me.  I carry it in my heart.

Oh Christmas Tree

In life there are many firsts.  Some of them good, some of them bad, some fall smack dab in the middle.  This first is bittersweet.  It is the first Christmas without my Mom.  Which means many other firsts too – the first Christmas tree without her, the first gift wrapping without her, the first year of my life that I will not be buying Christmas gifts for her.  You never realize just how many gifts that a person would enjoy until you lose them….and you still see gifts around the holidays that they would love. But somewhere along the way, you have to find more sweet than bitter if you are going to survive the holiday season.

This past weekend was time for another first. We went to pick it out, and Dad searched and found just the right tone.  I admit, I have never had a real one.  Growing up we always had an artificial Christmas tree.  This dates back to, what I have been told, the first Christmas that Mom and Dad were married.  They got a real tree, and loved it.  And then the holidays were over, and it was time to take the ornaments off and put the tree, well, whereever real trees go after Christmas.

This is where there was an impasse.  Dad firmly believed that it was the woman’s job to handle the Christmas decorations, including the disposal of the tree.  Mom felt that it was the man’s job to carry the large Christmas tree out the curb.  Both my parents are very stubborn.  Neither one was willing to budge.  And so there the Christmas tree sat, needles brown and falling off- through New Years, past Valentine’s day, and St. Patrick’s Day.  It was the Easter tree, the Maudi Grad tree…

I have been told that late in the spring, when they moved from that house, the movers finally took the tree and put in on the curb.  Thus there were no more live Christmas trees.

Until now.

So we went to the nursery and  found the perfect 8ft Christmas tree. And it does indeed smell wonderful.  And we have been decorating it a little each night.  And that is the hard part.  Because my mother collected Christmas ornaments for over 40 years.   And now I have them.  And they are wonderful and beautiful and amazing and make me feel close to her….but they also make me aware that she is not here. She Loved Christmas

I sobbed while hanging the first few ornaments on the tree. It was surprising how hard it was to see these glistening ornaments, some I remember as a child and was not allowed to touch (Small klutzy child + delicate ornaments = disaster). There were all the angels, and animals and Christmas mice, and even the cute little Christmas Octopus ornament (I bought that one for her).  There was the little sequin drum that she made with my sister and cousin.  There was the ball with the cork oriental building inside. There was the Christmas Skunk ornament (it sounds weird, but is really cute).

And there was putting up her absolute favorite Christmas display – the nativity.  It is a sight to see.  While it is not an ornament on the tree, it is a display that was very close to her heart.

Slowly, as each ornament is hung, and each display or decoration is arranged, and the tree  glistens with its lights, it gets just a tiny bit easier.  Because I do feel like she is near.  And because she did love Christmas.

And so as I smell the scent of the tree, and see her ornaments hanging, I find the sweet in the bitter. I find the comfort in the quiet glow of the lights and the soft sound of Christmas carols…I miss her so very much, but know somehow, someway, she and Santa are having a great conversation. I hope she puts in a good word for me.

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The 49th Year

To most today is just another day, nothing special.  But to my family, this day has been a day to celebrate for 49 years now.  It is my parent’s 49^th wedding anniversary.  They met 54 years ago and were married in 1967.  My wonderful mother passed 4 months ago, but we still celebrate.

To stay together so long, through the ups and downs of life.  Theirs was truly a time when you stuck with it. It was wonderful growing up with parents who loved each other so much.  It was wonderful to see them, even in their older years, holding hands and being affectionate.  They have been a wonderful example as to what a relationship truly should be.  And they taught me not to ever settle for less than what they had.

And what they had does not change with the times or social opinion of the masses.  Because they taught me about basing a relationship on similar values, friendship, trust, respect and faith.  Those are the things that last, long after looks and the superficial fades.  They taught me about doing for the other not because you owe them, but because you love them.

I have called them many times over the years to wish them a happy anniversary and they would have completely forgotten about it.  They just went along, happy with each other no matter what day.

Today, we talked about many things he remembers about her.  We laughed as we talked about fond memories and talents she held.  I want to take all those memories and put them in a place inside my heart that is so Holy and sacred, that they will always be bright and unfaded. Afterward Dad went to visit my closest sister in age and geography.  Being so close to Thanksgiving, I am very thankful for her interest in keeping in touch with him and hope the trend continues.  Tonight will be a dinner of his choice and lots of hugs.

Today marks the start of the first of many holidays and celebrations without Mom.  Truth be told I do not know how to make that sound optimistic, or nice.  It is a journey that we all must go through at some point in our lives.  I do not know how to truly process that she is not here for this anniversary. I do not know how or what to feel. In truth, all we can do is hold those who we love just that much closer.  We can make those anniversaries of whatever a celebration…of life that is here, in front of us.  And maybe therein lies the key.

So tonight I raise my glass to the 49^th year. I am only 43, so I cannot even fathom what it is like or what it takes to stay with someone for longer than I have been alive.  But I do know it takes a lot of love.  I want to take those memories of love and be inspired moving forward.

This Thanksgiving

Change. It is a fact of life. Everyone, at some point, must accept it, learn to deal with it, adapt to it.  But that can very so very hard.

Usually I write about everything I am thankful for in the Month of November – a new list every day.  This Thanksgiving that seems too strange. I do look around and acknowledge the many blessings.  But I am not sure how to act really.  I am very thankful Dad is still here, thankful for my wonderful boyfriend, the fact that we have been blessed to have such a wonderful home and are building a life of love. That I have such wonderful friends who are there for me and love me, that I have a job I love at a great company.

And that I had 42 wonderful Thanksgivings with my mother.  That I was there in her last moments. And for all the wonderful talks and whispers and moments we shared, mother and daughter.  When she looked at me in the hospital and said “I know you truly love me.”  When she smiled and said “I know what that means.”  When I read the letter and notes she wrote labeled “Don’t open unless I am dead”…and how truly funny they were.  Thankful for the way she always knew just what to say, and when to say it, to make me smile and feel better.  Thankful for the taco soup and fresh cut corn that she froze, just for us, knowing she was going to pass. Still taking care of us, even now.

This Thanksgiving will be very different from the ones in the past.  Every Thanksgiving has been at my parent’s place.  Even when I lived far away, the trip would be made to make sure I was there with the rest of the family.  There was always so much food because Mom loved cooking for all of us.  The exception was last year when I begged to have the holiday feast at my place.  Mom and Dad reluctantly agreed and made the trip up to the big city.  It would turn out to be the last with my Mom.  My sister and her three boys were there too.  I treasure those memories.

This is the first year in my life that Mom will not be here for Thanksgiving, or Christmas.  This change is not welcome, but it is as it is and so I must adapt.  Thanksgiving is coming whether Mom is here or not.  And so this year we will spend Thanksgiving around M’s mother’s table. I am thankful for their generosity of taking us in. And no doubt there will be lots of love around that table. Truth be told Dad and I are at a bit of a loss this Thanksgiving…and holiday season in general.

But that is the thing about change – it opens up new opportunities. New ways of thinking about and doing things, and new possibilities.  This Thanksgiving may have a melancholy feel, but it can still be special.  This Thanksgiving is about love. And love is always a good thing.  Because love feeds the Human Spirit, fills in all of our cracks and makes us stronger.

With Love

I have long had the theory that if you do something with love, it will be felt throughout.  This past weekend is a great example.  My father wanted several of his belongings and pieces of furniture moved up.  A new home doesn’t really feel like it’s yours until you have your most favorite things around you.

And so my man and I went down to Mom and Dad’s, loaded up a 16’ truck full of his favorite things and drove them up to the new house.  Dad is taking full advantage of the fact that there is space for his things now.  So, with the help of some wonderful friends, we unloaded the truck and arrange Dad’s new room.

When my father returns, he will find his room full with his bed, his desk, his favorite chair and other items he picked to have with him.  My man and I arrange everything last night, moving heavy solid wood furniture, pulling out the tape measure with blinding speed, trying not to fall over the cats and trying not to trip over each other. The result is warmth that you can feel as soon as you walk in the room.  A room filled with, arranged with and designed with thought and love.  It is my favorite room in the house so far.

It seems that when you are doing for another, being of service to them, whatever love is felt is returned ten-fold.  Doing things for Dad helps me feel better.  It makes me feel as if Mom is smiling as she watches over us. It melts away all my heartache, channels it into something positive, and makes me smile. Serving others helps me heal. I can no longer do for Mom, but I can do for those she loved most and make sure they are good. And the is no doubt she loved Dad the best and the most.

Now, to arrange the rest of the house in the coming weeks.  To make it ours, warm and comfortable.  A sanctuary in a crazy world, a place of rest and peace.  And love.

---

 

Special note:  I am the luckiest woman in the world to have such a wonderful man as my partner.  He has been there for me, putting up with me in my emotional, grieving state.  He has been patient, letting me cry when needed.  He has been amazing to my father, treating him with nothing but kindness and respect.  He has lifted and moved heavy furniture, called on his friends to help, done dishes and laundry, eaten questionable cooking, and watched TV shows just because I liked them. I have been treated with more kindness, grace, gentleness and love that I deserve or could possibly hope.

There is a saying that when a woman is loved the right way, she becomes 100 times more than she ever could have been.  He has shown me this is true.  And I am blessed.

The Wonder They Hold

Sometimes we find ourselves in interesting places while trying to get back into the rhythm of life. This is where I find myself.  Three months after Mom’s passing, which still seems so surreal, we are all starting to get into the rhythm of forward movement.

In many ways is it the land of Almost (Which I wrote about here). I say almost, because I am not there yet.  But it feels like the brim of many things.  I am almost back into life, almost feeling like myself, almost back  into the swing of things.  We are almost unpacked, almost settled, and I almost know what I am doing. At work I am almost done with a few projects, my clothes almost match, and I almost feel like I look like I have it almost together.

It is peculiar, this place.  No longer there, but not quite at the other. It is better, as I come out of the darkness. I almost have a routine, and it feels good.  Get up, make coffee for Dad, discuss what is going on for the day.  At lunch it is either running a quick errand, eating at my desk or running home for lunch. After work is maybe going to the store for ingredients, then cooking, a little clean up and spending time with talking with my boyfriend about the day.  Still have to finish unpacking and figure out things like when to work out or watch TV.

A return to the routine after months of holding on, letting go and breathing out. The bittersweet relief of normal.  I look pictures of my mother, noticing her features as I inspect my own in the mirror.  There are enough similarities that I know I can do this. And I sleep warmly under a blanket which she picked.  She and God equipped me with all that is needed, and she loved me enough for a lifetime. Soon it will no longer be Almost…soon it will be a rhythm of life and love and hope and all the wonder that they hold.

In the Silence of Your Absence

In the silence of your absence
I am acutely aware of the space
Between the raindrops
And the heartbeats of each minute

I have deep knowledge of
The distance a whisper
Can travel in a quick breath
On the thick summer air

In the silence of your absence
I have felt, with keen understanding
The depth of love and pain
And loss and hope

I have heard and follow
The cries of the doves
And the joy of the butterflies
As their wings work their magic

In the silence of your absence
Though deafening as it may be,
I comprehend the bittersweet
Celebration of all the love you left behind.

And I recognize the calling
In the songs of the hummingbird
And I distinctly hear your voice
As the silence is broken.

Ada Burch
9/13/2016

And Then it Was Two

Someone asked how Dad and I were doing today. This day, the 2^nd month anniversary of Mom’s death. Two Months.  One can live a lifetime in two months.

Most of that day is a blur to me.  I remember parts and pieces.  I remember painting Mom’s fingernails and gently brushing her hair the night before, and that morning.  I remember gently talking to her about how much I loved her and about my favorite childhood memories.  Like the Alfonso’s break dancing kit gift debacle.  And when she read Little House on the Prairie book series to me.  And when she would brush and fix my hair in the morning when I was a child.  When she taught me all those childhood songs that I still remember, how she decorated my bedroom when I was a teenager and made it seafoam green…and how I really did not appreciate that as much as I should have.  How she sat with me through each and every heartache and break up.  And teaching me how to cook and make her famous milk sausage gravy…and so many memories.

I remember how I held her hand and watched her breathing get more and more shallow.  Even when you know it’s coming, you are never prepared to see someone take their last breath.  And I remember the lights flickering three times after I said “I love you…”

And then there was talking to everyone, making arrangements. Making decisions and taking care of everything. I know it happened, and I was the one to do those things, but I really don’t remember.

Grief is not as I expected.  I thought it would be a huge brick in the pit of my stomach.  But it’s not.  It is more like an acute awareness that she is not here.  It is the extreme knowledge of the Last time I felt her arms around me. It is the silence of her absence. And it is deafening.

But my answer to my dear friend who asked was simply – We are getting better at moving forward.

Because we are. Every day we get better at honoring her by creating something beautiful.  We live for her to look down and smile.  We pray for God to hold  us – and her – in his big hands. We hold our breath for the signs and whispers.  We look up and feel the sun, see the clouds, celebrate the rainbows, feel the rain and notice the magnificence of the world. A life beautiful through honoring her, her memory, how she wanted us and raised us to be. A life beautiful by creating a safe, peaceful space that is a sacred sanctuary, protected and kept close.

We move forward by honoring her memory and being true to ourselves and those we love.  We continue forward with the move to the new house, and creating something special.  We weave together the fabric of this life with every heartbeat.

My Mother’s Passing

She was magic.  She taught us how to catch butterflies, make home made bread, make a bed with hospital corners, tie my shoes, sing silly songs, how to read, she is the reason I am a writer…she is the reason why I am who I am, because I am my mother’s daughter. And now I must learn how to live without her.  This wonderful, magical, strong, independent, feisty, loving loyal woman.

On July 13th, my beautiful mother, passed away.  My father and I were holding her hands. She did not suffer. She very peacefully and gently slipped from our hands into the big hands of God.  While it was the most painful moment of my life, it was also the most beautiful.  It was my honor and privileged to be there for her, in her moment in that her journey.  She was surrounded by love, and I believe she chose that moment herself.

You drew a circle that shut me out, but love and I had the wits to win, we drew a circle that took you in.

Even though we were very close, even though I was there for her during the last 3 weeks, even though we talked almost every day, what I would not give for just one more hug, just one more chance to tell her I love her, just one more chance to hear her voice.  Hug your loved ones close, tell them you love them every chance you get, make sure they know.

Even though it is the way of nature – that children say goodbye to their parents, it is a very painful time.  I loved my mother very much and I will miss her every day of my life.

And there really is no way to describe such a wonderful woman, who was so full of live, so magic, so wise, and so loved.  She was a wonderful wife for 49 years, and an amazing mother. She raised 2 children, 3 grandchildren, and 63 foster children.

So many memories, so such laughter so much love.  And above everything that is her legacy: Love

Genny Burch. She LOVED.

Repost: I Miss You

I was asked to post this again. So here it is. Enjoy!

I Miss You

To miss someone is defined as to discover or feel the absence of. But I think it is much more than that, You can notice someone is not there, but not miss them. When someone says “I miss you.” A certain feeling in conveyed. A feeling of not just noticing someone’s absence, but wishing for their return. Even that does not peg exactly what missing feels like.

To me, missing someone means much more. It means that you think about them, and think of them fondly.  That they pop into your head at different times during the day, like when you hear a song or something happens you would like to tell them, but can’t. It means that you want to know about what is happening with them, and you would like to reestablish a connection. It means you like them and wish them to be close. You wish they were here. You want to hear their voice, see their smile, be in their physical presence.

And what is the cure for this missing? Well, aside from the obvious –  spending time together, talking and bonding, there really isn’t anything to be done. You just, miss them. And maybe, if you are lucky, in time, they return or you don’t miss them as much. Until then, you keep busy, dive into work, distract your mind. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes you just have to miss them anyway.

And to me, that is what it means to say I miss you.