Seeing You


I saw you yesterday at the grocery store. It caught me by surprise at first, to see you standing there, but as I approached you from behind, I saw traces of your hair and your stance. I held my breath and rationalized to myself that it was not, in fact, you, but a person who faintly resembled you. It was my heart that wanted it so desperately to be you.

This is the status of my life these days.

Trucks that look similar to yours that pass me on the street, late-twenties boys who stand near me pumping gas; these things make me pause to doubt.

As I past this person with my shopping cart, I couldn’t help but turn over my shoulder to make sure that it wasn’t you. Do you think it’s silly that I was actuly saddened that it wasn’t you? Double check that it isn’t indeed you. I may never again look at my phone and not wonder if it is you calling to chat or hear the “ding” of a text message and hope that it is you sending me a joke.

My child mentioned you at dinner a few nights ago. You know, that child of mine who loved you so. The one who climbed in your lap when you would visit and demand every bit of your attention? He said it so sweetly and innocently, I almost didn’t notice. He could have asked me for more bread. But when The Hero reached for my hand, I knew the small one had said something about you. I asked him to repeat it. Slow. Soft.

“I miss Uncle Guy.”

There were no tears in his eyes. No softened words. Just forward and truthful; like kids do.

Tonight the little one and I made dinner, filled our plates and was five minutes into watching The Voice. We were discussing hair styles and singing when he said “Mommy, I guess it’s ok that Uncle Guy is in Heaven. I have two uncles and it doesn’t matter that he is in Heaven. He is still my uncle.”

I tried to hard not to let him see me cry. But my kids are use to me disappearing into the kitchen these days.
I guess I’m not the only one whose been missing you lately. I suppose the hole that you left in my life and in my heart was not only a hole for me, but for others too. I suppose I’ve just been so awash with my own grief and hurt looking for you that I hadn’t much noticed. But it appears that we all are looking for you.

Lindsey Andrews
About me

Attorney & Author. Always in search for daily joy.

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