It has this sneaky ability of catching you at the moment you least anticipate, right? Those silent moments when the whole world seems to have reached a standstill—music halted, sun below the horizon line, or you toss a prayer-like look on your phone with expectations of an arrival, only to be greeted by nothing. It is in that stillness of time, the quiet, that it comes to you: you miss them. And then suddenly, out of nowhere, your chest is heavy, as if something is tugging at you from very, very far away. Surprise, uninvited, but it's there. It isn't even sadness, either—it's more, more complex. It's pain that consoles. It's laughing and crying at the same time, when you never really know whether you'll laugh or cry. It's not a tidy feeling, missing someone. It is confused, jumbled, and chaotic. It doesn't always work, but it's so human. And of course, science reassures us that it's completely normal to feel happy and sad that someone is not there anymore. At its most basic form, missing someone is love.
We are not wired to make it through this life alone. Since the day we are born, our heads are wired to connect—to connect with others who make us feel safe, understand us, belong. Those hooks are part of who we are as we become older and mature. And so when the one being that we loved—isn't there anymore—whether they died, floated out of touch, or otherwise disappeared for good—our brains and bodies know. It's not emotional, it's physical. It's a little shock to your system. Your body's aware, and something just doesn't feel. right. Stress hormones like cortisol pour into your system, and you're wide-awake, unfocused, kinda lost. It's like the balance of your world has been upset and your mind is racing to fill up the void they left behind. But the thing is: missing someone does make you happy, yet sad.
I know this is stupid, but just imagine for a second. When you do miss them—the way they used to make you laugh, how they spoke to you, small rituals you'd do with them—you don't simply regret what you've lost. It reminds you of the times, and by reminding you, it activates the brain's reward and pleasure system. Brain chemicals oxytocin and dopamine are triggered, and you become snug and safe. And yet even though they are not physically with you now, their absence becomes intimate once more. That is what is so heartbreaking about missing someone: it is not what you are missing, per se. It is what they have left inside of you for having been there, and the manner in which their love and presence continue to fill you up. How you will miss someone will also differ in why they've departed. If they've just recently been gone—a vacationing friend, a visiting wife or husband—you're missing them.
You're waiting breathlessly until you can be reunited, when eventually they'll return. That kind of absence is temporary, held in hope. But if they're not returning—if you'll never lay eyes on them again—that grief runs deeper. It doesn't rinse out of your heart right away. It lingers with you, quietly, like a dull ache at the base of your head. And within the pain is something lovely in the fact that they did leave a mark on your heart. That you do still think of them today is proof that they did care. They did leave a mark upon your life, and that is something you can grasp. And finally, and most humanly of all: missing someone is preserving love. The pain, the hurt—it's not weakness. It's strength. It's the evidence your heart was open, that you loved, that you loved with a passion that will leave its mark. Even when it hurts, there is beauty in that. So. If you're reading this today with that in your chest—whether for having made you laugh between tears, or for having caused your chest pain—just know. That. Missing someone is one of the most real things our hearts can do. It means they counted. They mattered. In a world that's always, always on the move, that kind of love is worth stopping for.
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