How to Miss a Stranger

How To Miss A Stranger

By H. M. Zike

What is it to miss a stranger?

Someone who, by definition, you know nothing about.

Someone whom you have no memory of ever meeting.

It is agony, a never-ending pit of agony akin to Tarturous itself.

It’s looking at a picture of yourself sitting next to someone you don’t remember.

Longing desperately for nothing more in this world than the touch of their hand on your shoulder, or their arms wrapping you in a warm, safe hug.

It’s closing your eyes on your fifth birthday and wishing with every fiber of your innocent little heart for a miracle that will never come.

It’s lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, closing your eyes, and praying to God that you could remember the sound of his voice.

To miss a stranger is drowning in a raging sea of pain, frustration, guilt, envy, and anger.

It’s a never-ending list of questions playing repeatedly in your head.

What was his favorite song?

What was his favorite movie?

Did he like to dance like me?

Did he enjoy telling horrible dad jokes?

What did his laughter sound like?

It’s trying to fill an endless canyon full of water with only an old, measly bucket with a rusted-out hole in the bottom.

It’s being wracked with anger.

Guilt.

Hatred.

Frustration.

Desperation.

Longing.

To miss a stranger is to be ignorant of your true potential.

Who could I have been?

A Dancer, A gymnast, A artist, A doctor, A lawyer?

Would I be the same person I am today?

No, I have been forged in the fires of tragedy and struggle.

Would we have been happier?

I dream the answer is yes, but I can never be truly certain.

I try not to dwell on this question too much; wishing for things that can never happen will drive a person mad.

Would we have been a closer family?

Would we have had game nights? Would we have spent every holiday together? Would we have gone to the State Fair as a family every year? Would we have had family inside jokes?

Would he have taught me how to play pool? To swim? To throw a softball? To play guitar? Would we have gone to Daddy/Daughter Dances? Would he have taught me how to fish?

To miss a stranger is to mourn for your past, as well as your future.

You won’t be there to walk me down the wedding aisle.

You won’t be there to hold my firstborn child.

You won’t be there to watch me make a home and a family.

Everything would be different if he weren’t a stranger.

He is a stranger, though, one that I miss with every fiber of my being.

To miss a stranger is maddening.