PlainGeets

“Here, ever since you went abroad,
If there be change no change I see:
I only walk our wonted road,
The road is only walk’d by me.

Yes; I forgot; a change there is –
Was it of that you bade me tell?
I catch at times, at times I miss
The sight, the tone, I know so well …”

– Savage Landor (1775-1864)

We go through life surrounded by presences, a constant hum of interactions and connections. So absence, the unexpected silence where a voice used to be, the empty spot where a person once stood, holds a very unique power creating a space that’s not really empty, but more like a hollow echo chamber where memories bounce and emotions linger. There’s a pang of sadness for the laughter that isn’t echoing through the room, the conversation left unfinished, the plans we didn’t get to make. But there’s also a bittersweet comfort, a phantom echo of the person who left their mark.

This week found me in the role of a dispassionate observer of an absence felt by somebody I love deeply. Watching him struggle to come to terms with this new absence in his life, while I myself felt the pinch of his physical absence brought to fore so many emotions – a deep loneliness in tandem with gratitude for some very cherished memories.

Over the years, I’ve felt the absence of some people rather keenly. My father who passed away unexpectedly when I was waiting for him to return from a trip so we could discuss my plans for the future. A friend who drifted out of touch. Another who chose to no longer be in touch.

The absence created by death taught me the art of letting go. I learnt to live with the space left behind by my father, a space that felt vast and lonely at first. It also felt unfair. I started from a position of anger at the injustice, but gradually, with time and acceptance, the space become more than just a quiet corner where cherished memories could be stored safely. It became a place where I sought inspiration, where I went to push myself to grow as a person.

The chosen absences, however left many lingering questions. What did I do that was so wrong? Was it inevitable? The unanswered “what ifs” swirl constantly in my sub-conscious, omni-present, loud at times, but slowly fading as time goes by. But they also hold unexpected value. They remind me, rather harshly, that people change, grow, and move on, forcing me to confront the impermanence of connections, the bittersweet reality that not all relationships are built to last a lifetime. This realisation, though painful, has been a catalyst for growth.

As humans we are taught to cherish the connections we have, for they may not always remain. We nurture them with intention, creating memories that become anchors even when the physical distance grows. And its those very memories that call to me when the absence hits me.

Absence doesn’t have to be a void. It can be a source of strength, a reminder to be strong. It can teach us to find solace in memories, to cherish connections, and to embrace the ever-changing nature of life itself. After all there is a beauty in everything, even absence.