Empty Space

I absolutely love having people come to visit. There is little that I anticipate more than the arrival of a dear friend or family member for a stay at my house. I love planning meals and treats I can make for guests, thinking up places I can take them, and finding ways that I can share with them a little piece of my life here in St. Louis. I love the different energy that comes in my house when someone else is here occupying its space. Since nearly all of my friends have moved from St. Louis, I rarely have company here anymore. Dinner parties, Christmas parties, watching movies with friends. . . these are all things I have always looked forward to hosting, and things that I have really missed in the last year or two. I am the person who loves making the house nice for someone else, who tries to make things look and smell and taste pretty in hopes that my home can be a place of comfort and rest. I make invitations, I bake treats, I light candles, I plan special meals. When it's all over and my guests depart, I almost always feel the sadness of the empty, hollow space that is left from the absence of a visitor.

My sister flew out of St. Louis this morning. Even last night, I was feeling the sadness of her departure. Her leaving, combined with some job-related stress that has come upon me of late, left me in tears for at least an hour this morning. I just couldn't seem to stop crying. The distractions of work kept me from feeling the loneliness of a departed guest, but when I came home this afternoon, there it all was. The dirty sheets and blanket that I placed in the laundry, the old boarding pass that my sister had left behind that I tossed into the recycling bin. I gently took down the "Happy Birthday" banner and streamers I had put up for her, and put away the bag in which I had placed her birthday gift. I carefully deflated the helium balloons I brought to the airport when I picked her up, tossing them into the trash. I discarded the gladiolas I purchased at the farmer's market while she was here, now sagging and turning brown. I found something my sister had left behind and set it aside to be mailed. I picked things up, I did the dishes, I returned everything to its state of normalcy. And it feels normal. . . almost. But there's still a little something missing, too. A little too much empty space.