A Shade. A Shadow. Ruah.
Let me see if I can convey this.
Sometimes, as I'm desultorily wafting the Web, I come across photos of little girls.
Today, for instance, I saw a photo of a -- oh, maybe she was a two year old -- little girl.
And my throat locks.
I look at the photo very carefully, looking for something. I don't know what. But I notice the pale see-through quality of her skin. The milky-blue quality of skin so thin that her circulatory system is visible, if not defined, through her skin.
Then, a couple of days ago, it was the silky, shiny, thin-fabric curtain of hair partially masking the face of a little girl. Actually she was playing peek-a-boo through it. Not that she knew how beautiful she was, only that she wanted to play.
And my eyes mist.
This is what happens when an interruption of life occurs -- but the death isn't complete. In some moods, on some days, everywhere I look, my daughter is there.
But even if I reached out, I couldn't touch her. That's punishment enough, don't you think?