I’m remembering my dear godfather, as I do – especially painfully – every time September rolls in.
I remember the morning like it was today – a Saturday, September 1. I had been up early to finish a play and was feeling good that I had brought the draft to a satisfactory enough state of completion. I was giving it a read over when I heard on the 6:30 a.m. news on local radio that a man had gone missing in the forest near the place where I was born and spent my early childhood. Up to that time, people who disappeared without a trace or went missing by whatever means were not people I knew. So beyond wondering for a moment what could have happened and hoping there would be a good resolution to the story, I did not dwell on it further. Shortly after the newscast ended, I had a phone call from the newsreader (a relative), telling me the unnamed man of the broadcast was my dear, precious godfather. Here is an article I wrote a couple of years later about that loss.
The pain of loss without closure is probably one of the worst types of interior upheaval there is to experience. Later, a pet cat which he had given me as a fist-sized kitten walked away, never to come back home, so it was double trauma. After that I stopped keeping pets.
There is always hope that the long term-missing can still be found. I feel joy at each story of people, especially parents and children, being reunited after long separations. I pray always for the same good news to come out one day about the British child Madeleine McCann who went missing in Portugal a few years ago.