The Missing

I’m sitting in a hotel lobby as I write this. I’m on a business trip. I just got here and I really want to go out and explore. It’s a sunny day and the next few will be booked with work.

But, I feel this need to write. I remember the first time I was here, in Chicago. I was on my very first business trip, one that I convinced my employer to send me on during the credit crisis, so I could build a relationship with a really nice client. And it turned out that my Dad was also set to work in Chicago that week. He was so excited. We coordinated to meet. I walked across the bridge and met him and his colleagues at a restaurant. We sat and talked for a while. I remember calling him on my walk and marveling at the beauty of the city - “I can see the sky!” “There is water in the middle of the city!’ He chuckled and said “come on over, everybody is so excited to meet you.”

This is now my fourth time back here. The last two were led by surrogacy, as we flew to Chicago to get to Madison Wisconsin, where the anatomy scan was conducted. A few months later, we attended the Midwest Reproductive Symposium International conference. We worked 24/7 for three days straight, learning all about the doctor’s perspectives on IVF, and had so much fun while doing it - we did squeeze in a last-minute Widespread Panic concert, with a surprise appearance from Billy Strings, after all.

Little did we know, it was our “last hurrah” of traveling as two adults. But for us, the real hurrah was the arrival of our daughter just a month later…bringing us back to the Midwest again. 

During the fertility conference, I reminisced about my first time in Chicago…and how it was with my Dad. How he’s just everywhere. We stumbled upon the restaurant that we went to with his team. I recognized it immediately. I had this feeling - my Dad is here. He was here. I was here with him. It really happened. He was alive at one point and we were here, together, in this city. 

And now, I’m back in Chicago remembering my Dad’s presence in this city. 

That’s The Missing.

It’s an underlying, ever-present layer of grief. It’s subtle sometimes, and others, it’s WOW.

One minute I’m at a fertility conference or a client trip and the next I’m standing on a corner in a street replaying the memory of my time with my Dad, just wishing I could relive it right now. I wish I could call him and tell him about how cool it is to be back in Chicago years later. 

Other times it is a BIG cry. It’s like I have been waiting to cry but just couldn’t let out the tears.

And others, it’s a smile. It’s somebody mentioning my Dad and me smiling thinking about him. 

The Missing is the continual longing for your loved one.

And that loved one, for me, is also my baby boy who we lost via miscarriage - just as we honored the one year anniversary of the loss of my father. Its wondering what he would be like. Realizing that he’d be four now, and be really excited about his new baby sister. 

The Missing is also for the lost embryos. The ones that just didn’t make it through the transfer at all. 

The Missing a space in between the Before and the After the loss of a loved one. A big aspect of my grief was the deep, immediate understanding that my life is never going to be the same. And it hurts. A lot. 

There is an unfillable void that creates a feeling of emptiness. 

The yearning for your loved one. Wishing they were here. That they’d come back. 

And for me, that Missing goes further. It’s the longing to wake up from the nightmare. 

The Missing is where even when your days do feel like the same on the surface, you know they are not. You can go back to work, hang out with friends, spend time with family, and even smile, laugh and look happy while doing it. But it’s still not the same. You’re not the same.

It’s takn me a long time to cope with the daily, underlying feeling of The Missing. To accept it. It’s not the same, it will never be the same, but it is. It IS my life now. 

Over time, The Missing, for me, has become a sacred open space for self-love, reflection, learning and sharing.

On a daily basis, I acknowledge and care for that empty hole in my being that aches in pain for the loss of my Dad, and that of my son. I fill it with love. Love for myself. I share it with others. Not just the pain of it, but the learnings and love that flow through me.

The grief is within me, and I know it’s there. It has a strong pull on me. If I let it, it will pull me down. But I’m in charge. I tell my Grief to sit beside me, not consume me. To live with me, not overpower me. 

I am thankful for The Missing, for it reminds me of my everlasting love that is still available to cherish, learn from and share.

What can you do to cope with The Missing?