Day 42: Tasting the pain

 

She welcomed each guest into her home.  Each had come with an invitation from her own hands.  She knew some, others, she had only heard of.  No one brought flowers or cards.  She had requested that they come without any offerings, except what was inside of them.  

As the guests found a place to sit down, she looked over the faces.  There were no smiles, no laughter, no tears.  Their sullen faces told only one story.  They had come because they had tasted. 

A knock on the door brought her away from the gazes of her guests.  She opened the door to find her best friend.  They looked in each others eyes for only a moment before came the interruption of words.

"Why didn't I get an invitation?" her friend asked.  "I have been your friend for thirty years.  There is nothing we have not done together.  We were playmates and confidants.  I stood up for you at your wedding, you stood up for me at mine.  We are best friends. Your husband died and yet I am not invited to your home.  Why can't I be with you in this sad time? 

She looked with compassion at her friend.  This woman had been with her for decades of joy and laughter.  They shared so many days of love together.  But when she had penned the invitations to this event, this great sadness, her friends name didn't make the list.  

"Yes, you are right.  We have been friends for so many years.  We have been playmates and confidants.  We stood up for each other as we started our journeys of marriage.  There isn't a joy we haven't shared.  I am grateful for all those times and thankful for the love we have shared.  

"Then why have I not been invited to your husband's memorial?  Why can't I sit with those who have gathered to walk you through this loss?

"Because as much as you have shared my joy and love, you have never tasted loss.  You have lived your life avoiding heartache and death.  Maybe one day you will, but until then... If you have never tasted your own pain, how can you taste mine? 

* * * 

I think, like food, pain can be present, but not tasted.  Bread crumbs swept under a carpet instead of consumed... that is untasted pain.  There are so many ways to live with pain and loss and not take it in, stay with it, consume it.  I personally think death is untasted when "Heaven" is embraced.  The loss is temporary.  "Heaven" becomes a place where we can have it all again.  It's kind of like having Easter Sunday two days after Good Friday.  There is no time to be sad.  It seems like it's a performance... but there is no tasting the loss of that which is presented.  

Most have been conditioned to see death as a hiccup in the total experience.  It is seen in how we talk of death to children and even adults.  What if we are doing a great disservice to people by not giving then the chance to sit in their loss and in their pain.  

Here is how the gathering ended...

* * * 

After she left her friend at the open door, she returned to her guests.  

"I have asked that you come here, without flowers, without cards, without anything but the pain that dwells in the core of your being.  I ask that you give me only that.  Share your pain, share your loss.  Let this be a place where the fragrance of your shared sadness becomes greater than the scent of any roses or carnations.  That is the best gift you can give me today." 

And she sat down in silence and tasted their pain.