The absence

Today more than ever I believe that absence is the strongest form of memory there is; because you lack that nostalgic feeling that only appears in the absence. We do not notice the one who is leaving when he is. Because it always is, we know it, and we have that certainty. Absence is strong, it is tough and it does not discriminate. The absence always takes its place, although we are accompanied, the absence is there in the form of emptiness and it determines itself never to leave. The one who left does not know that he is absent, there is the worst part, because he does not have to deal with that heavy burden. It is ironic, because it is a burden that does not weigh, but is carried; like a briefcase full of small stones that do not weigh, but that we know we can never remove.We feel it daily and, although it lightens with the passage of time, the absence never disappears.

 

I have thought a lot about that form of love that transforms and helps me mitigate the absence. The absence is directly proportional to our closeness to that living being. We are no longer going to hear him scream, laugh, sing, talk, talk nonsense, bark, growl, purr, etc. The absence can be split as if it were a cake, as something healthy that must begin to let go of the one who left. Slowly. Until he has left completely, and his absence no longer pierces our hearts. When I speak of absence, I remember my dog ​​Ciro a lot. He was a special, arbitrary being, and he never felt like a dog. He was part of my family, my house was his home and his well-being was a priority. Ciro's last months were traumatic. That is why his absence is still noticeable. He fell ill and in his illness, I did not acknowledge a possible absence. I never contemplated it. In that illness I dealt with him: with his medicines, with his relapses, a short-lived recovery and the last fall.

 

Ciro left as he arrived. He didn't warn me. I said goodbye to him and he said goodbye to me. Goodbye to him, to my grandfather, to my grandmother and those who will continue to leave. At almost 30 years old, I already know how to deal with absences.

*Essay written registered and published by Luis Fernando Polo Makacio, on January 17, 2021. Any intention to publish this essay must have the permission of its owner and author (Luis Fernando Polo Makacio). Otherwise, you would be incurring in copyright violation.