Absence of a Different Sort

But do know this: every time you choose to love, you have also just chosen to die.

-Richard Rohr, Immortal Diamond

The kids have been with Michele's parents at the beach this week.  For the two of us, going about our daily routines and living life the way we must have lived it before they came along, it has been an interesting time.  We notice that there is something missing.  Michele has been a bit more emotional about it than me.  She misses her babies.  I don't so much miss them as I find their absence peculiar.
Part of the reason I don't get emotional about their absence is I trust that they're having fun, spending time with Grandparents and most importantly that they will be back tomorrow, and life will pretty much go back to normal.
That, of course, is not true for everyone who experiences the presence of an absence.  Let's call it the "second wave" of grief; that moment when it really sinks in that someone you love is not going to walk back in the door, or call you on the phone.
They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.  That is certainly true in the case of my kids.  There have been times when I have had just about enough of them, and this week has been a refreshing break from the grind of parenthood (Michele and I went out and dropped a C-note on school supplies last night just to remind ourselves that we're parents).  Now though, I'm ready for the little nippers to come back, and I'm glad that they will.
The prospect of re-union is made more joyful because of the experience of knowing what it's like when we will not meet again upon the mortal coil. (I know, a lot of stuff comes back to that eventually, just be glad if you're among the fortunate ones who have not experienced a loss out of turn).
One of the things that has become clear to me in this brief separation, is how unusual it is to only have to think about just two.  At one point in my life, it was all I could do to manage my own stuff, then I began to learn to accommodate Michele, then a cat, then a dog, then Jack, then Cate, then another dog.  For a while there, life was getting awfully crowded.
And I almost forgot!  The whole Pastor thing!  Somewhere in that mix, I have learned to share my life with a whole bunch of people of all different sorts.
If you had told 19 year old me that I was going to do that, I would have told you that you were a crazy person.
I'm not going to go all Barbara Streisand on you here, but here's a surprise: 40 year old me, with all these connections and responsibilities and relationships, is a hell of a lot happier than 19 year old me.  I'm better because I have shared my life with people, even if I've had to say goodbye to some of the people I really liked and loved.
There are times when I think it would have been easier to stay closed off, and to think only of myself, and to protect my fragile emotions.  I know there are many in the world who live that way.
I mourn for them deeply.
I am glad that I have been shown the depth of beauty that comes out of even our most tragic losses.
Pauses are important to the meaning of the spoken word.
Punctuation is crucial to the written word.
Rests are as important to music as notes.
Negative space is crucial in drawing and painting.
Sculptures are created by removing bits and pieces from a meaningless block.
The void has it's work to do in every aspect of creation.
Peace.