When Missing Someone Physically Hurts

When Missing Someone Physically Hurts

Missing someone can physically hurt.

I miss my grandpa.

More than anyone I’ve ever missed before.

I miss his dark eyes. I miss the way they’d crinkle whenever he smiled.

But I miss his laugh the most. It echoed throughout the house. When he found something really funny, his smile would travel to his eyes. It was the best laugh in the whole world. A hearty one that made you happy instantly.

I didn’t get to hear it much near the end, though. This is because he was in so much pain.

I miss the pitter-patter of his footsteps as he walked down the hall.

I miss my childhood home.

This is mostly because the house reminds me of him. My grandparent’s sunny, yellow bungalow had big windows. There was a pine tree standing proudly next to the house. I can still picture my family, chatting loudly in our old kitchen. We had so many good times in that house. I wish that I could go back to when we were all together for just one day.

It’s hard to think that the yellow house sat abandoned for a few months. Only memories of years past occupied its vacant rooms. They were once filled with noise and life.

Before we laid my grandpa to rest, we visited the yellow bungalow one last time. It was important to us that he got a chance to say goodbye. As my mother and I drove past my childhood home, I placed my hand on the passenger window. I reached out to the house as if I were begging for it to cover us with its sturdy brick roof. Just like it had for many years.

I kept wishing it could bring him back to us again.

I would see my grandpa standing there on the front porch as he always did.

He’d be leaning gracefully against the railing, a cigarette in his hand. There’d be a smirk on his well-defined, angular face.

When you’re missing someone you love deeply, you can physically feel it. The pain sets in–a tight, persistent knot in your chest that won’t go away. A lump rises in your throat and it’s as though you have stopped breathing altogether. There’s also an emptiness, like a tear in a tattered shirt that’s catching wind.

 

He took a piece of my heart with him, that’s for sure.

It’s a consistent pain I’ve never felt before and one I cannot fathom ever feeling again.

One day, when I’m grey and old, I will see him again. We’ll laugh, just as we did before. I’ll hug him tightly and say “I love you” over and over. Eventually, it’ll make up for all the times I wanted to tell him that while he was away.

For now, I’ll keep his plaid shirt tucked safely away in my closet. It’s the only item I have of his from our old house. A thick grey shirt that I used to steal from his room during the wintertime. I loved that shirt. He never complained when he saw that it was missing from his room. That’s because it always kept me warm.

It’ll be a reminder that he’s always with me.

 

Thank you so much for reading my poem-style post, When Missing Someone Physically Hurts. It means a lot to me! 💛