The Void

I found it! At least, I know where it is! My daughter has it. I don't know how she got hold of it but I saw her playing with it in her room. Oh the relief to see it again, just to know where it was. I asked her to let me see it but she immediately got suspicious and tried to hide under the bed. And as she ran with my missing piece, the void started to throb. I'm not used to this pain but it's OK. I'll let her play with it a bit more before I take it back. I'm sure she'll get bored of it soon enough.

I'm getting angry! I've tried a number of times to get the piece back and none of them have worked. I cannot get near it. She holds the piece with a vice-like grip. She isn't this protective of her favorite toys. If I sneak into her room while she is sleeping, she starts to stir. As I get closer, she starts to moan. I tried grabbing it but she immediately woke up and gave an inhuman scream. I panicked and ran out her room. My wife arrived and tried to console her. It took a very long time for them both to calm down. My daughter was incoherent in her sobs, so it was all explained away as a nightmare. As I listened to them, the void throbbed.

I tried reasoning with my daughter. I asked her where she got my piece? She would simply reply that she 'found' it, then smiled and hugged it closer. When I pushed for more details, she got suspicious and tried to hide under her bed again. I even tried forcing her to give it to me, raising my voice and preparing to grab it. But it ended the same way. She gave the same inhuman scream and I panicked and backed off. Again, my wife came running but my daughter was incoherent. No cause for the scream was identified. But I'm starting to wonder if getting the piece back is worth the pain I'm inflicting. Both on my daughter and my wife. Still, the void throbs.

It has been some time since I've made an attempt at the piece. I don't know where my daughter hides it and my wife can't seem to see it. But it's there. And it's real. And its loss hurts me in ways I can't explain.

I occasionally walk past my daughter's room to see her playing with it. The joy and delight that she gets from it reminds me of the same feelings it gave me. My sadness at losing it is only matched by the joy that radiates from her. But only barely. If I watch her for too long, she instinctively realises and turns to me. The look she gives is wary and afraid. As if she isn't sure what to do? Whether she needs to run and hide again. But I relent and retreat, leaving her to her world.

And even though I yearn, I have to accept that the missing piece… it suits her. She seems fuller, more alive with it. At this rate I may never get it back. My love for my daughter is stronger than my pain.

I noticed today that my daughter does not carry the piece the way that I did. Even though it is clearly the piece I knew, she has altered it. The parts that made it fit inside me are still there but they have changed slightly. The piece has adjusted to fit her. She carries it better than I did, with a confidence and style I'd lost. I realise I'd taken it for granted.

But there's more. There is a depth to the piece I never appreciated. I can see her changes clearly. But there are more changes and they were not made by us. There are layers to the piece, subtle ones. Too many to count. Small changes made over time. My daughter isn't changing it. She's adding to it.

My parents came for a visit today. It's always great to catch up with them and the children love their visits. The day was relaxed, full of laughs and food. But through it all, I noticed something about my parents. A very subtle stiffness to their motions. Their movements had a practiced grace but betrayed small tell-tale signs: they also had parts of themselves missing.

It wasn't easy to spot. Like an old wound that they've made peace with and compensated for. They sit or move so that it's not facing you. Or stand in a way that keeps it hidden. Once I saw their voids, I saw the subtle and graceful dance to keep their voids concealed. A dance that doesn't exist without a void.

And it's not a shameful dance. It's a dance of courage. A motion that echoes an event that hurt but didn't break. It made them stronger and wiser through a lingering loss.

There was a moment when our eyes met while they put on their coats. I could see that they knew I had spotted their voids. And in turn, they could see mine. And the shape of our voids were similar. Mine was newer and still raw. Theirs had a familiar shape but was softer. It was then that we felt the same loss, the same pain. But there was also an understanding. The voids we shared were personal and not to be parade. It was a rite of passage shared by those who loved unconditionally. And through that love, give away the very best of themselves. An unintended gift to someone deserving.

We share a sorrowful but sweet smile. The moment passed, they put on their coats and left. I see my parents differently now, as well as my children. And my place in-between. I am practicing my movements, trying to move as my parents did. As my grandparents did. To build myself anew from what I have left. My motions are still clumsy but I'm getting better. I'm learning to present the pieces of me I still have. And to not draw attention to those I have lost. It still hurts but it's getting better. I'm getting better.

This morning I awoke to find another part of me missing, until I saw my son playing with it.