This beauty was given to me as a Christmas present by it’s maker, Tony Coleman, Natalie’s dad. He named it, “String of Pearls.” Isn’t it fantastic? I did nothing to deserve such a gift, but I greedily accepted it anyway! I was made part of their family Christmas gift exchange as I was in Boulder to celebrate the holiday with Sean and Natalie. I got Tony’s name. I gave him shearling slippers. I am afraid I ended up on the better end of that transaction!
I was fortunate to have been invited to join some high school friends for an early dinner yesterday. (Fairbury, NE. Class of 1970!) It was a friendly, chatty group. Most of the conversation was steered to happy moments; reconciliation of children, grandchildren photos, stories of happy Christmases and New Year’s spent with loved ones. Things that give life joy.
But each woman at that table has faced her own hardships and heartbreaks or are facing them at present. As are so many of my friends right now. No one, of course, goes out with friends to discus sorrows and/or losses, but we carry them with us and we see them in the people we are close to. Through our own losses we learn a deeper compassion and empathy and we share that when we can. Sometimes with words. Sometimes with the touching of hearts in a good hug.
No one is insulated from grief. At least no one who has loved.
Not all communal grieving requires discussion. Gosh! In our seventies do we finally begin to understand the real importance of love, patience, sharing and compassion? We knew the concepts and practiced the formal tradition of the precepts of love, but did we really understand? Do we really have to endure all of these trials, all of these life lessons, in order to achieve humility and peace?
I think we do, fortunately or unfortunately. At least I did. And oh! Some people, and sadly so, are much more embroiled in life lessons than I have ever been.
The problem is that it’s nearly impossible to actually relieve a person from their burdens. We can share, commiserate, lend an ear, give a hug, make a meal, but we can’t end cancer, we can’t fend off death or provide protection from what other wickedness might befall our friends. I know. I watched as friends around Jim and I struggled with those same problems. How could they possibly help us? Or help me after he was gone? Some trials in this life can only be made whole by the slow healing of our individual hearts. And nobody can do that for us. No matter how we or they wish they could.
We lower our heads and push our way through. We are sturdy mid-western women after all. And we do get through. And our hearts heal, over time. And there are birds to feed and grandchildren to spoil and friends to gather with over a meal and a good chat.
And the friendly comradery helps. At least it does for me.