Veronica Guido

My birthday comes during the time of year where the earth starts to darken and the air starts to cool. The trees let their leaves go as the sun moves further away. It is known as a time for reflection, connecting with loved-ones-lost, the harvest, and death. I love this time of year; the veil thins as I get one year older. But with this thinning has come the reality that not all I love is here with me anymore. And I feel, with each passing year and season, that my yearning for what is no longer here becomes stronger. Undeniably so.

I suppose that is the growing pains of adulthood, this yearning. For what does getting older give us, regardless of the good times we curate? Pain. Sorrow. Hurt and heartache. How? Well, in the form of missing.

Missing. How I wish I never knew such a word. Such a feeling. Such an ache. For it is an ache, missing. For a place. A time. A memory. A person. A feeling and smell and taste and warmth. I miss so much now as I age. Both for what I had, and what I will never have. This time of year specifically, I find myself missing the memory of the pie my grandmother would bake me for my birthday, just as much as I miss the reality that I will never have it again with her.

And I cannot tell which is less painful: Thinking back on being with her, or thinking forward knowing I will never have her here again.

You’re told with age comes wisdom, and perhaps I am still too young for such wise thoughts, but my mind teeters between what I once had and what I will never be able to, and which, of the two, pains me more.

On the one hand, at least I had it. That memory. That touch and feeling. The hug. The kiss. The meal. The smell. I experienced it, even if fleetingly.

But the missing of never being able to have is an emptiness I have yet to face fully. It is there. Oh, it is there. But to face it head on, I am too afraid. For it is an emptiness that can never be filled up, this form of missing. This yearning. This pain.

Never experiencing these exact things – the hugs and warmth and scents – in the exact times where I now have the foresight to want them is heartbreak on an infinite level.

But then again; is that not a gift in itself? To have known enough to want again? To yearn for something you know you can never again have? For if I never missed, I never would feel such a sadness.

The smell of a loved one’s perfume. The taste of your favourite meal that was made with the utmost love. The warmth of a hug when you needed it the most. The warmth of such a hug when you did not even want it. There was no pain when I lived such things, but oh how painful it can be to look back on them with yearning.

So, what is worse then, on a scale of pain? The pain of a memory, or the pain of knowing it will never be repeated?

Perhaps they are one and the same, for will I ever miss a memory as much as when I know it is now all I have? Maybe that is why I cannot decide which is less painful, for they are but the same thing. And if offered, would I give this pain away? If I were promised to never again experience such a yearning, would I take it?

No. Only a fool would accept such a deal. For in that pain is the reminder of how deeply I love whatever it is I am missing. How deeply I love such a memory, that I would give anything to have it again in the future.

Perhaps that is grief, painting such memories with pain. Or, perhaps, I am a soft soul under it all. But here is what I believe: Memories, even the most happy, will one day house a yearning. Whether it comes in the cloak of yearning to return to simpler times, or the cloak of yearning to have such a feeling repeat itself again. That is the eternal promise of life itself.

I often think of those I miss, the places and memories I yearn for, with smiles and warmth. They are not sad memories, the eating of birthday pie. They are beautiful and cherished, and how lucky I feel that I was able to have them. But to deny that there is a pain there at the knowing I can never go back, never have it now, never have it a year from now, is simply that: Denial. And to deny such a yearning exists within you is to deny the deep love such a memory holds.

I recently heard a quote that said: “Future you is watching you in memories.” Future you is watching you in memories, perhaps with that exact yearning.

In the meal you make this weekend. In the hug you give a friend. In the phone calls made and cookies baked and places seen.

Fondly, I hope, is how such memories are viewed, regardless of the pain that may come with them one day, be it for myself or those I make them with. For if I have learned anything with age, it is that memories are truly all we have. So make them. Cherish them. Do not push them down in denial. Feel them, fully, when they arise. If we don’t, they may stay away forever. And that is a heartbreak I hope to never have.