That is the eloquent sentence my dear friend and poet said to me the other night when talking about the death of his 65-year-old twin sister.
He feels her absence.
He feels her memory.
He feels the part of him that is absent without her.
He is incorporating into his being both the memory and absence of her, as well as allowing absence itself to be a space he holds.
I find this terribly tender and honest, raw and true.
We have holes in ourselves made by the loss of those we loved. In the holes, there is a wholeness that is the memory of them.
In the memory of them, we feel the absence of them.
Ultimately, we integrate the loss into our beings. There is no duality left. There is absence and memory. There is wholeness. There is love.
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