There is an empty space hidden deep inside. It cannot be seen or touched. It cannot be filled or healed. It just exists.
Many people have empty spaces. Some have been carefully etched into being by slowly evolving grief. Some have been hacked away by sudden, wrenching loss.
The tears may flow and smooth away some of the roughest edges, filling the nooks and crannies. But the cavern remains. Dark. Empty. Hollow.
At times, laughter comes and masks its existence. But awareness always creeps, creeps, creeps in, a reminder that it’s still there. Struggling for survival.
And within that hollow space? Loss. Pain. Regret. Bouncing around against the cold walls of nothingness.
It remains unseen by any x-ray or CT scan. Yet I feel it. Right here. Nestled somewhere within my ribcage, resting beneath my heart.
Sometimes it causes my breath to catch. Sometimes the pain is nearly unbearable. But most of the time, it is just hollow. As if a significant part of my soul has been wrenched away.
Come, Spirit. Soothe the ache that emptiness can bring. Dry the tears that come again.
Come, Spirit. Bring memories and comfort to my weary soul.
Come, Spirit. Fill that hollow space that I might be whole.
Come with me, Spirit. That I might console.
This piece is written in honor of those for whom this will be the first Father’s Day without their fathers. And for those fathers who have gone on to claim their “heavenly reward.” Know that you are missed.