Missing Presence

She captured my sense of loss in a phrase, "you're missing her presence." Yes, that is it. And that is why she is my counselor...to listen well and reflect on where I am right now, and how I can keep navigating this journey.

It was the Saturday after American Thanksgiving that I first felt the loss of presence. That is when in our tradition, we decorate the house for Christmas. It begins with getting the boxes from the attic, putting up the tree, arranging the lights on the tree, and then starting the process of putting the ornamentts on the tree. If one can remember, each ornament has its own story and history. However, if the memory fades, then they just look like nice old ornaments.

I asked Linda if she wanted to help me decorate for Christmas. In years past there would have been a delightful response showing enthusiasm and expectation. It has been Linda's favorite season as long as I have known her -- friends since 1965 when we began college. But this year her response was flat. It didn't seem to connect. So I began to get the boxes from the attic, hoping this would trigger her interest. Even as I pulled the artificial tree from its box, there were no lights that came on in Linda's eyes. Instead, she decided she wanted to walk around the block.

Kneeling beside the tree, pulling the branches apart, connecting the tree parts of base, middle and top, there was a sadness that enveloped me. I had never done this alone. During the next hour, Linda went on frequent walks...each a quick trip around the block...the one safe path she can follow without becoming lost. Steadily, I got the tree up and then with Flora's assistance the lights were arranged on the tree. Finally, with a little coaxing, Linda showed some interest and began to put a few ornaments on the tree...but each ornament was now naked...stripped of its story that would have dressed it in meaning. For her, the memories were gone...and she had been the primary custodian of these memories in our family. I guess it means that I have lost many of them too...I had always depended on Linda to tell the stories that each ornament triggered. The silence was heavy for me. The memories were not present.