Hollows

Its not my tragedy, even though I will miss her. Being part of a family, of a community, we each have a role to play. Mine is to be there for those who were closest to her.

Pat talked about there being a hole. Something very tangible. A hole in the shape of her. She’s gone now. The hole will remain forever vacant. Nothing, no one will ever fill that hole. This is how we hold on to the ones we love – we never let anything fill that hole again.

It’s weird that we think of other people, of our relationships, as if they were tangibles. There was a shape that Catherine had. There was a form. Like a spot on the shelf. And every time you enter that room, the room of your heart, for the rest of your life, it will always seem out of place. Something will always be missing. A hole in the exact shape that she was. A spot where she should be.

I told Pat that the hole is never filled. It will always be there. Every loss is a new spot. I wonder if the room becomes unrecognizable after a time. If the memories replace the things.

How many holes can a person sustain before there’s simply no more room?

This is why we form our communities. Our families. Because when our friends are in need, we know. We know because we love them, and so we reach out to them, and we support them, and we carry them, and we love them.

This is what I am trying to do for my friends.

And I keep wondering why, when I am in need, instead of being part of something bigger, instead of being with my community, my family, my loved ones …

… instead I just hide away. Alone.

How many holes can a person sustain before there’s simply no more room?

These are just my self-indulgent contemplations. This is not my tragedy. I am carrying a different weight, for those feeling the loss the hardest. The closest. But Catherine was my friend, and I will miss her very dearly.

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