A quote that actually means something…

“Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.” ~C.S. Lewis

Of all the quotes, sayings, verses, and other platitudes I’ve read or come across in the last 10 months, this one resonates with me the most. Because it sums up grief in one brief sentence, without trying to paint a rosy picture on it. I’ve long said that people who haven’t experienced a loss shouldn’t be allowed to tell you how to think or feel. Because even though they mean well, and their hearts are in the right place, they simply do not get it.

But this quote from C.S.Lewis, written about his wife who died, hits the nail square on the head. Emily’s absence touches everything in my day to day routine. From physical reminders to memories, to even a painful awareness of something she won’t be here for. It is like the sky- it spreads over absolutely everything.

Everytime my phone rings at work signaling an outside call, there’s still that brief moment where I expect to hear her sing-songy voice on the other end “hiiiiii it’s meeeee!!” My phone hardly ever rings- she was the one who called me the most. Oh, I used to get so irritated at her. She never really wanted anything, she was bored. And it never entered her mind that just because she was bored didn’t mean the rest of the world was anxiously sitting around waiting to talk to her. I would snap and get irritated. But no matter how curt or irritated I got at her, she always called back. My heart breaks all over again when I don’t hear her voice on the other end.

I see gray Ford Focuses everywhere. I avoid driving through town unless it’s absolutely necessary, because it hurts way too much to see her car parked in Diana’s driveway. Even though the door to her bedroom is closed, it still mocks me that her stuff is still there as she left it. I wish it was gone- I can’t stand the stuff. I think of her when I smell oranges. And when I see commercials for blood sugar meters. I think of her when I come across a cute stuffed frog and when I see daisies.

I think of her when I plan for the my next trip to Poland. And the trip to Sunset Beach again over Easter. I think of her when I see a preview for a new movie. And when I walk into my office and see all the plants from her funeral that are now growing into a forest. I think of her when I see a pair of sisters- fighting, laughing, carrying on.

I don’t think I ever want to step foot into an Outback restaurant again. That was one of her favorite places. And… it was there that I realized something was wrong with her. We were on one of our dinner/movie dates- maybe about a month before she was diagnosed with diabetes. By the time our dinner arrived, she had already gone through six sodas. By the time we left, she was up to 10 and still thirsty. I knew something then wasn’t right. And for some reason, I just can’t tolerate that place anymore.

People, places, things… so much that reminds me of her. It’s constant, and yet unexpected, and I’m so unprepared for when they show up.

Her absence is everywhere, and yet she’s nowhere here.