What I’m Really Saying

I wanted to say, “Today, I turned to tell you something. I spoke our language and the person I was talking to laughed politely and tried to make sense of what I had said. I wished you were here to understand me.”

I wanted to say, “I played the song on the guitar that you love. I feel like it’s wasted if you aren’t here to enjoy it.”

I wanted to say, “I’m learning things you are really good at. I wish you were here to show me what you know and so that we could be excited and frustrated and engrossed together.”

I wanted to say, “I’ve been thinking about the philosophy and understanding of cursing, and it’s fascinating, and I wanted to Think about it with you.”

I wanted to say, “Today, someone was surprised by the phrase, ‘I just like you so much’ and I realized how much I miss you and everyone in Ely saying it all the time. And meaning it.”

I wanted to say, “I thought about when you’re coming to visit me, and I’m looking out for things and people to show you. It seems crazy and so exciting that you’re going to be in this context with me and meet the people I love.”

I wanted to say, “Today I remembered how I didn’t realize I was leaving the next day, and you kept me sane.”

I wanted to say, “Today I remembered the last we played Cataan, and I used ‘I’m going to Lima all summer’ as a bargaining chip, and it only worked on Dad ,but he won anyway.”

I wanted to say, “I saw how Enrique interacts with his daughters and it made me think about how you got choked up telling me how proud of me you are and how much you love me. I think Enrique’s like you, and it reminds me of you.”

I wanted to say, “I read Pierre’s notes and I could see your prodding/encouragement all over them. And we talked about problems in homeschooling and I thought about how you are in Congo, observing and analyzing and sharing your wisdom. And I thought about how Congo is far away.”

I wanted to say, “I shared the power cord with the other two girls and thought about how we pass the Internet around in Ely 211.”

I wanted to say, “No one’s face is yours. Your face fits when I look at it. And it’s not anywhere I look.”

I wanted to say, “It hit me today that I won’t see you again until so many meals and days and experiences and car trips and late nights and hard things have happened to both of us.”

But instead of all those things, it’s easier to just say, “I miss you.”

I hope you understand:

I miss you.


7 Comments on “What I’m Really Saying”

  1. tedenrice says:

    A clarification: Guys, this doesn’t mean that I’m super sad all the time or that I’m dying of missing people.

    It means that I was thinking about the different things that could motivate saying “I miss you” and giving examples from thoughts that have gone through my head.

  2. Diana says:

    Just a stylistic thing, I think after “I hope you understand” you should put either a comma or a colon.

    Also this reminds me of another poem you wrote.

    I wanted to say, “We had a game night and someone quoted homestar runner and I wished you were there to quote it back.”

    • tedenrice says:

      Yeah, it’s kind of like that poem I wrote after you went to college. Especially the first line. But I think it’s a little different. This is more about the different thing “I miss you” can refer to and mean. The other one was more about the sensation of loss. I would put that one up on the blog, but people would think I was getting depressed or something. Just kidding, a little bit.

  3. Diana says:

    On a second read through, I think you punctuated correctly.

  4. kathy rice says:

    Very thoughtfully written. Thanks, Karen. I miss you too.

  5. Abi says:

    I miss you too. This is wonderfully sweet. I want you to know, I’m reading your blog as much as possible (which means all of it, just 6 entries at a time or something) cause internet is so unreliable at church. I have always, always enjoyed how your writing makes me know what you mean.

  6. […] For Serious Thoughts about loving others, about whether to be on time in a culture where lateness is a way of life, about missing people […]

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