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.
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.