Personally, I must have music and art and drama and
literature and thought; renewed friendships and new friendships; children’s
laughter and tears; mountain air, bright sun, full moons. I need to touch people emotionally and
physically. I shake hands, and I’m known
to hug big—both arms. My grandsons love
and fear Grandpa’s hugs, I think, but they come for more, to be enveloped in
what I hope they know is my love for them pinning them to my heart. I feel as if I’m trying to absorb them, and
anyone else who gets into that crush, and make them part of me, to fill the
spaces, the vacuum in my heart and in my life.
Vacuums in our lives are spaces of loneliness. We may be solid, corporeal, mass made of
flesh and bone and blood, but we are also spirit—soul, if you will—which has no
essence other than love. The losses we
naturally endure when those we love move away for a time or pass from our lives
more permanently create vacuums of loneliness that can only be filled by
love. Memories keep the way open, but we
have to live and create and feel—need, desire, long for, and love, love, love.
The year about to end has brought me vacuums that feel like
black holes sucking the light and love from my life. Fortunately, my family and extended family
and friends both old and new have quickly rushed in to keep my heart open. I have heard the music, seen the beauty in
art and the world, and most of all felt the love of those around me.
When I shake your hand (or, better yet, when I wrap you in
my arms), I hope you feel the vacuum spaces in your heart filling up, too. Most of all, I hope you understand that you
are part of the reason I live a full life and have a full heart. Thank you.
I love you.
djc
12/21/13
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