He stood in this very house, I realized. Right here, in front of me. He greeted my family with his goofy "Hiya". His spirit filled this house.

How can someone be here one instant and then vanish forever from our presence? All we have left of them is our memories. Smells fade, we bury their bodies, forget the sound of their laughter. Or do they remain among us, living in our minds, passing through our thoughts to remind us of happy times, to remind us of them? Do they breathe on us the sound of their voice? Or tap our shoulder to catch a glimspe of a memory? We search and search and search to collect some sort of solace. Are we finding it? Or can it only be given to us?

There is such fear in death. Being left behind creates a gap torn from the heart. That pain is dark. Loneliness absorbs the energy that flows through our veins and we try to medicate ourselves by sleeping. Shutting down our minds and bodies, hoping that when we wake, the pain from grief's beatings will have passed. But grief does not rest like us. It tears and pulverizes our cores, our brains, our souls. We grow numb from crying. We grow numb from being alone. Grief consumes us and smashes us to the floor.

Eventually, in it's own timing, the pain begins to subside and the tear in our hearts begin to heal. And in a way, we miss the humbleness agony brings us. It feels so safe, as if we have been pressed to God's chest, held there as a prisoner to be released in his timing. Then we are free, but alone, having to fend for ourselves. We grow stronger with time, therapy, life; but on our hearts remains a scar. A mark for remembrance, a mark of love. Sensitive tissue that we guard and protect, even fight for. Tissue so sensitive that tears flow if agitated. We run our fingers across the skin of our lives and feel the different sensations each scar brings. Uncomfortable as it is, we are thankful for our marks that are evidence of someone precious, someone loved, someone who loved us.