When I was a little girl, I would build forts out of blankets in the middle of the living room. I would gather as many blankets as I could and use the sofa, the arm chair, the coffee table, whatever furniture was around to prop the fort up.

When I was all done, when it was as close to perfect as I could get it, I would inch my way under the defensive walls of the blankets, of the fort, and rest.

Lying inside of a makeshift fort when you are a child is magical. You are at once transported outside of the familiar living room and into another land of whatever your imagination can concoct.

If you asked me today what those lands looked like, what sort of magic I invited, I would simply tell you of light. Because when the light is slowly dimmed and filtered through by way of blankets, blankets that I used to swaddle myself in while I was sick or cuddling with family, it becomes a form of safety, of comfort, of magic. The light becomes a second skin that you simply want to sink into, that you want to wear for always because of how good, how warm, it feels.

I think of my family and friends as that skin now. I think of that safety, of that comfort, of that magic, and I see those relationships that I have. The ones we love settle into our bones, nestle deep into our core and all the hidden corners of our hearts. They become a part of who we are.

You settle into all the old familiar things, all the conversation, all the jokes, all the memories you have created, and you bask in it, you bask in the glory of that person and linger there for as long as possible. Once that person goes away, once you aren’t around them, the dynamic, the skin changes. You are left wrestling with the absence they have created, wrestling with the spaces in between, and missing that safety, that comfort, that magic that you create together.

My sister Noelle is going away to college in two weeks. She will no longer be down the hall or down the street from me, sneaking into my bed at night, or begging me to come and pick her up and take her to the mall. She will be hours away and will lengthen the distance between us.

She will take away from me her smile, her warmth, her sarcasm, her deep love. But I will entrust her with our bond, our magic that we create together, so that she has something to cling to during those first few weeks of transition. She will be homesick, she will be overwhelmed, she will be lonely, but she will not be alone.

My beau’s brother Eric has come in from North Carolina for a weeklong vacation. He makes the eight-hour drive two to three times a year to see familiar faces and places, to see his family. With him he brings his laughter, his sense of humor, his ability to find the beauty, the artwork, in just about anything.

And when he leaves again, the silence will be unbearable for a while, nothing will seem as fun as it did when he was near, and the distance will be even more menacing. But with him he will take our smiles, the way our eyes lit up when he would tell a joke, and the feel of our hearts swelling from having him near.

My best friend Colleen is moving to Texas soon. She will be taking a job as part of her journey towards her Master’s Degree. She will live across the country, too far away for me to call at any hour of the day to talk about everything and no thing at all, too far away to see on a whim, too far away to fill the spaces in between.

But when she does come home or call, her voice will be even sweeter then before, our conversation even more sacred and treasured, our bond more secure and tightly intact. She will know how much she is loved and missed, she will know that there is always a place called home to return to, and she will know that pass or fail she is already a success to those that she belongs to.

Noelle, Eric, Colleen, all will sooner rather than later leave. Sooner rather than later I will be missing what is known, what is loved, what is longed for. The absence of their conversation, of their voices, faces, and hearts, will leave me bare. I will be cold and will beg for the normality and comfort that they bring.

And I think that no matter how near or far someone that you love may be there is always that absence, that empty space until you are together again. The people that we love make up a giant puzzle in our hearts – when one piece is missing, the whole isn’t quite the same.

It makes me sad to know that love and loss sometimes go hand in hand, that that feeling of being bare, of being without safety, comfort, and magic, happens too often in life.

But it makes me ecstatic to know that that feeling doesn’t last forever, that magic does happen every day and that love, no matter how far away it may be, never disappears.

It’s like second skin, so easy to slip into.

My sister Noelle is going away to college in two weeks. She will no longer be down the hall or down the street from me, sneaking into my bed at night, or begging me to come and pick her up and take her to the mall.

About the Author

Haley Taffera covers for the Times Leader. Reach her at or .

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