I arrived at our “summer” home in South Haven, Michigan this past December, 30^th, and am staying through January 13^th. This is only the second time I have been to South Haven during the winter. The first was in late January, 2008. I had been at a company workshop at Northern Illinois University. When it was over, I met my brother Jim in Chicago and we drove to South Haven for a long weekend.

It was cold. The lake was frozen for the first thirty yards from the beach out. The skies didn’t budge from a dark, intense grey tone. In fact, you couldn’t tell where the lake ended and the sky began. And, from 8 AM until 8 PM I was pretty much on my own. Jim was commuting the one hour to participate in a trade show in Grand Rapids. And when I say I was on my own, I mean on my own. No TV, no Internet. Even our friends across the street who live here year-round were out of town.

I don’t remember how I filled all of the three days, but I do recall walking on the icy beach and at least once making the icy, one-mile trek to Café Julia to set up shop at a back table and be on their internet. But then I remembered I had to walk home. The temperatures were frigid so being outside for too long was nearly impossible.

Mostly I just waited for Jimmy to get home, peering out the window for the rare car driving north on North Shore Drive and to take a right into our driveway. But  once Jim arrived the long, lonely day would be forgotten. He greeted me with his broad smile and an enthusiastic greeting. We would then have dinner and conversation and lots of laughs, as we always did. Jimmy was South Haven and South Haven has always been Jimmy.

Fast forward 13 years to 2021 and things have changed. The TV is on. The internet is on. I have a car here (actually, Jimmy’s old car). The weather is in the thirties, not single digits. Marge is across the street. The sun has peaked through many days. And, of course, I have my Fiona with me.

What hasn’t changed, however, is a longing for Jimmy to come home. To hear his voice. To share a meal. Have a long conversation over dinner and, of course, some laughs.  I miss him all the time but sometimes it hits me so hard and so deeply, as it has here, these winter days, and well, mostly these winter evenings. It’s a longing. I feel his presence here, but I mostly feel his absence, a void. I want what I know is impossible. But I long for it just the same.