Who Do You Miss Most?
Thursday, December 4, 2008 at 08:13PM 
Recently I read and reviewed "Billy" by William Paul McKay and Ken Abraham--the story of two great evangelists, Billy Graham and Charles Templeton, who deep friendship was severed when they chose opposing answers to their shared crisis of faith. A disturbing quote near the end of the book caused me to think about the people I miss when they're not around and why I miss them.
Why do some people make such an impression on us that even if we've only known them a short time and not very well, we regret when they are gone? Why do we not particularly miss some people who we love and with whom we share considerable history? Why is it that we miss some people mostly with our heads and feel the presence or absence of others so deeply in our hearts?
When I go over the list of those I tend to miss most, it's not necessarily colorful lifestyles or larger-than-life personas that stand out (although those attributes are generously represented on my list). The outstanding requisite among my "most missed" individuals is that each one loves me in at least one specific way that I need to be loved. Indulge me while I review those ways:
Lifelong Acceptance
Although my father, mother, and three brothers each have a distinct relationship with me, the common thread is that they each accept me as just Diane. I'm not a contact, and prospect, a writer, an administrative assistant, a minister, a pastor's wife, a stepmom, a housewife, a blogger or any other label. I'm just Diane, and I need that.
We each need someone in our life that knows our past and fully intends to stay connected with us anyway. My friend Ruthanne, who I met during our first week at NYU, falls into this lifelong acceptance category as well. We've known each other since we had few tags on us other than gender, race, and location. To Ruthanne, whatever I do I'm just an older version of that leotard and overall wearing, about to blossom teenager she met thirty years ago, and vice-versa.
Sacrificial
Though I am joyfully married to Benjamin, I miss my late husband Jae nearly every day. I miss the gentleness and thoughtfulness he showered on everyone he met. I miss his music. Most of all, when I think of Jae, I remember the security of knowing this was a man who would never leave me and would have given his life for mine with no hesitation.
Encouraging
Through no merit of mine, I have the blessing of several wonderful, beautiful sister-friends who are special to me for many individually wonderful, beautiful reasons. All of these ladies--as different as they can be--make my life richer by not only applauding when I do well, but also encouraging me to do better.
Listening
My late mother-in-law Ollie Mae (Jae's mother) died the night before my twenty-ninth birthday. Every once in a while I think about the phone conversations we enjoyed together every evening. She listened to every word I said, laughed in all the right places, and often asked me to repeat little bits and stories I'd told her before that she found particularly amusing or of interest.
I read a line in Alan Alda's autobiography the other day: "Real listening is a willingness to let the other person change you." Ollie and I changed each other.
Challenging
My husband Benjamin is the most amazing person I've ever known. For one thing, he beats me at Scrabble 18 out of 20 games, which is significant and rare in my universe, and which overwhelmed me early on with both a renewed competitive spirit and with a romantic desire that I suppose is based in some innate female hormonal drive to improve one's family genetic pool.
Benjamin is my favorite preacher, devoted pastor, a natural strategist, supernaturally hardworking, a fiercely attentive and sacrificial father, a stylish men's clothier, my best friend, and a man after God's own heart; he has lots of other wonderful qualities, which I have the decorum to keep to myself.
What stands out most? He sharpens me (Proverbs 27:17).
Adding together all the above qualiies that inspire me to miss someone, I see an imitation of what Christ gives me: lifelong acceptance, sacrificial love, encouragement, listening, and He sharpens me.
Near the end of "Billy" , the book I mentioned in paragraph one above, Charles Templeton is an elderly avowed agnostic suffering from Alzheimer's and stuck in confusion about how Billy Graham ursurped his "rightful" place as the world's leading evangelist. As he winds down his tale about his old friend Billy, Templeton begins his often repeated sputtering about why he doesn't believe Jesus is God. Suddenly he stops for a moment and then cries out, "I miss Him!"
Who do you miss most, and why?
(Photograph by Jasper Greek Golangco)
Reader Comments (2)
Great post, Diane! From the moment I started reading, I knew what my answer would be...my grandmother. My mother passed away last January and my father over 14 years ago. Although I miss them, and my other grandparents, I had a very special relationship with my paternal grandmother. I loved her dearly. In February, it will have been 50 years since she was received into the gates of heaven. And I still cry because I miss her.
I think that before we experience such a loss, we fear the idea of missing someone forever. Now that I know what it's like to lose someone who matters like my arm or my leg, I find it comforting to know I'll never stop feeling the absence. The original pain dulls, but the knowledge of what's missing remains.