The Spaces People Fill

Empty Space Filip Kominik on Unsplash

It crept up on me.

The feeling of emptiness.

It wasn’t immediately there.

Yes, there it was. Almost immediately.

A feeling of permanent loss.

I recall it as a sharp emotional feeling -- a hurtful pang of knowing hitting me somewhere deep inside as soon as I heard the words – “she’s gone” over the phone.

I remember crying and realizing that less than 12 hours had passed since she and I had sat together for the last time. I am so grateful I went to see her. It was such a gift that she was completely lucid, and I knew she recognized me. She definitely knew who I was.

That memory of holding her frail, wrinkled hands in mine as we sat silently, exchanging farewell with our eyes through tears. I knew it was a meaningful moment, and I’m so grateful that I have a photo of our hands taken during that last visit. I cherish this image, and it brings me comfort just to look at it.

I feel her absence. It’s taking on an ambiguous, shadowy shape. I thought I knew exactly what I had lost, but I didn’t truly understand how deep it was for days. As each day passes, the grief shifts and morphs into an awareness I knew was there but still couldn’t quite grasp.

It’s a shadowy whisp of a shape you can’t quite make out.

It feels like that vague awareness that there is something missing but you can’t quite put your finger on what it is.

That awareness grew into a space. A space I hadn’t ever been even aware that had been filled by her, for probably decades. A space I never fully realized or appreciated while she was here.

What I have come to realize is this: People fill spaces in our lives – spaces we don’t even realize are there until someone steps into them, or out of them. In this case, I didn’t understand how deeply this space inside of me she filled until she was gone.

You might think I would feel regret for not acknowledging that she held this space while she was here – but it was almost as if I didn’t need to. She always knew, and so did I. It was simply that way. It didn’t need to be said out loud.

Let me back up.

Beverly Gleason and I met decades ago when I was in my late twenties and she was thirty years my senior. Yet, when we met, we were equals and friends supporting each other on our life journeys.

We met in a Woman Within women’s group, which is a circle of like-minded women who have attended a transformational retreat. We gather “in a circle” regularly to support each other as we integrate what we are learning about ourselves so we can fully step into who we really are. It is a special place – our circle - where we do our best, just for a few hours, to make space away from the chaos of everyday life to stop, sit, listen, and be there for each other. Circle was a place for Bev and me – and the other women in it – to honor all the joys as well as support each other during some of our most challenging times.

In woman’s circle, we accept where and who we are in a way that I have found in my almost 65 years on this planet to be extremely rare. I know that many spiritual texts refer to “unconditional love” as if it can be achieved by making the decision to choose it. I imagine this choice as being much like ordering something from an à la carte menu. “ Oh, I’ll take self-compassion from column A, please – and a bit of non-judgement from column B, and why not add a dollop of the kindness sauce, and let’s just call it the unconditional love combo.”

Regardless of our age difference, Bev and I became friends, and our relationship extended outside of our circle. Years after we no longer sat in a circle, we continued to support each other. Because we sat in that circle for so long, our deep connection only grew over the years.

Bev had a beauty you didn’t see with your eyes but with your heart. There are countless things I’ll miss about her – her no-nonsense advice, her smile that lit up her eyes, and the way we truly saw each other. It was such a gift that we could communicate – especially after her stroke -- without many words by using our eyes and touch.

Bev’s hands and mine - Sept. 6

I must mention her hands – those hands that created meals, knit warmth, and gave love. Hands that I am so grateful I was able to hold onto during one of her last days. And I can’t forget to mention the socks those hands made for me – many pairs over the years. I’ve always called them my “Bev hug socks” – each stitch a reminder of her care and love.

one of the many pairs I have of “Bev hug Socks”

Bev was incredibly strong – both inside and out. Once, when we were sitting together on her porch swing, probably not saying much, watching the sun set across a picturesque field opposite her house, I noticed a pile of boulders in her yard. Some were quite large, and I assumed her husband Bill had moved them. When I asked about them, Bev smiled, dirt under her fingernails, and told me she had dug, rolled, and wheelbarrowed them all herself. She was creating another garden. That was Bev – determined, resilient, fearless, and OK – maybe a bit stubborn too.

Over time, Bev slowly filled spaces in me that I didn’t realize.

Since Bev died a few weeks ago, I have been allowing myself time and space to relive and recall many memories – some micro moments really – and it has become clearer that Bev filled a very special space in my life -- the space of a mother, as well as a wise friend and confidant.

I lost my mom when I was in my late 20s – newly married and at a point in my life where I wasn’t in a place to appreciate my mom as the woman she truly was. I wasn’t in a position to fully understand the complex relationship that exists between a daughter and a mother. I certainly grieved the loss of my mother, but I think the loss I felt was of what she had been up to that point in my life. I never fully grasped what I would be losing by not having her by my side to guide me as I grew older -- not having my mom there while I became a mom—not having her there while I did years of therapy and deep personal healing around my childhood—not having her there to share her wisdom, heck, not having her be able to share simple everyday moments like family recipes or passing on family traditions or stories about our family history so I could carry them forward into my family.

So, because I didn’t know this space existed in me, I think Bev crept into that space and slowly filled it for me.

Bev, being the wise woman she was, recognized the mothering role she played more than I did. And she didn’t push me to admit it myself. I can’t explain it – but it just was what it was.

Bev wasn’t a constant presence in my family’s life. Still, she was there behind the scenes, helping me navigate the ups and downs of marriage, supporting me as I raised my three daughters, and listening with loving acceptance as I muddled my way through life. Her presence was felt not just through her wisdom and support, but also woven into the hand-knit gifts – like the blankets she made for each of my daughters (in their favorite colors) when they left for college... Bev was there, filling that space.

Bev would often tell me I was her “other daughter,” and I would shrug it off with a smile, not really agreeing with her – but not disagreeing either.

Bev gave me so many gifts, but perhaps one of the greatest gifts she has given me is the one I am recognizing now – after she is gone.

The gift is the ability to recognize and feel the loss of a mother.

I am still processing the space Bev filled, and to be honest, I recognize that the grief I am feeling isn’t just for the mother in Bev that I lost, but I believe I am grieving in a whole new way the loss of my mother, almost 39 years ago.

Why?

Because the space is vacant again.

It is wide, so very deep and intensely profound.

I am feeling its emptiness.

I am holding the space with love, grace, and gratitude.

Gratitude for the mothers I have lost and the love and acceptance I have gained.

Grateful to be here to witness and support my own daughter as she mothers her daughter.

Grateful for the friends and family that are here now and hopeful I can appreciate and acknowledge the unique spaces they each fill in my life while they are here.

I hope these thoughts I’ve shared inspire you to pause and take a moment to recognize the people, places, and things that are filling spaces in your life. Perhaps you can take a moment to notice -- and maybe even appreciate – the spaces that are filled without you realizing it.

I am holding onto hope that you can acknowledge the people filling those spaces before they, too, are gone.