Accepting a Gift

When we lose something infinitely important to us we splinter apart. We burst apart, pieces of us fleeing in shards, flying to get away from us. In that split second, our perception of time is slowed and we watch the explosion drive parts of us from us, frozen in our shock and helplessness. There is no stopping this flight. Some of our pieces will return. Many will be damaged but will heal with time. These pieces will snuggle back into their home and our lives will appear normal. But the pieces that don’t return will leave a vacancy.

Now is the time to remember- loss is not crippling. No doubt that we will forget that we lost something and reach for what was once there. Our hands will grasp the empty air, our feet will fall through the space, leaving us gasping in fear until we find floor - now at a much different level than it was before. That sudden vacant space is not empty - merely waiting.

Perhaps we chose to leave it empty, a vacant reminder of what we’ve lost. It can become a memorial of void, adding nothing to our lives - merely a vacancy we carry throughout our days. A space that we skirt with averted eyes, hoping if we stop interacting with it, the emptiness will slowly fade.

Or, perhaps, we choose to search for the closest replica of what we lost. We can sift through materials, assemble approximations, paint surfaces to mimic the old parts. Carefully, oh so deliberately, we can try to rebuild a hollow reincarnation of what we had before, desperately hoping that this trickery will lead us back to peace.

But, maybe there is a third possibility. Maybe we can be strong enough to stop and watch the space. Perhaps we can stare into and allow ourselves to remember what was once there, revisit the pain, and let that go. Perhaps if we stand there long enough, we might begin to see the space as receptive instead of empty - a new space for us to create within, tempting us instead of tormenting us. Where we once felt loss, we can feel a calling, a luring of the creative- an urge to redefine what will occupy that space. We can allow ourselves to be seduced into the space and then we can begin again, molding and creating anew. Giddy, we can start shaping our ideas of what should replace it.

Throwing out restraints, we may fill the space with something that resembles the lost item very little. In redefining and shaping our view of the vacancy, we can create something extraordinary to take it’s previous occupant’s place. We can create something that feels softer and warmer; something that fits our souls closer; something that doesn’t chafe quite so much; something that is stronger and unexpected.

Perhaps, if we abandon restraints - we can create wings where we had legs.