I Didn't Just Lose You

 
Found on the Book of Faces under The Pooh Lover.

Maybe I'm saving this because my friend Gary just lost his wife.  The one he spent a lifetime waiting for.  The one he will spend a lifetime missing.

Maybe I'm saving this because I fear experiencing his fate.  Losing my beloved bride wouldn't just be losing a partner.  It would mean losing in integral piece of what make me who I am.

Maybe I'm saving this for day when memory truly fades and I'm looking around for someone familiar in a sea of faces all claim to be friends or family and in whose faces I experience only vague recollection.

Maybe I'm saving this for you, my unknown reader, so you will know that it is OK to miss someone with all your heart.  Your world has changed.  And it will change again.  And so will you.  And while there will be someone missing in your life, you will still be here.  You too will be missed in turn.  So stay with us.  Be the place that feels "like home" for someone else for as long as you can.  And then a minute more.

I didn’t just lose you.

I lost the quiet place my heart would rest.

I lost the feeling of being safe —

like no matter how heavy the world became,

I had somewhere to set it down.

I lost the comfort of being understood

without having to explain a single word.

The way you could look at me

and know what I wasn’t saying.

The way your presence

made everything feel steadier,

softer,

less frightening.

I didn’t just lose your voice.

I lost the sound that made hard days gentler.

The reassurance hidden in simple words.

The calm that came from hearing,

“It’s going to be okay.”

I lost the feeling of being home.

Not the house.

Not the walls.

But the warmth.

The sense that I belonged somewhere

completely and without question.

With you,

I didn’t have to be strong all the time.

I didn’t have to pretend.

I didn’t have to carry everything alone.

Now the world feels different.

Louder in some ways.

Quieter in others.

There’s a space beside me

that no one else quite fits into.

A silence

that doesn’t echo the same.

People say time helps.

Maybe it softens the edges.

Maybe it teaches you how to breathe again.

But it doesn’t give back

the feeling of being safe in someone’s love.

It doesn’t replace the way

your presence wrapped around my life

like shelter.

I didn’t just lose you.

I lost the place

where my heart felt most understood.

And some nights,

under the same moon we once shared,

I close my eyes

and try to remember

what it felt like

to be home.