I have had some lovely feedback on the original post, but sadly not via the comment box at the bottom of the post (Comments will get a reply - promptness not guaranteed, but they will each get a personal response - feedback ed).
What has been a welcome surprise, was a real live discussion (with voices and everything - the phone is a wonderful instrument - technology ed), with my Australian reader, the most charmingly named Esmerelda Blenkinsop. Now Esmerelda, who I have to say has a lovely voice, with perhaps just a twang of the Oz about it, mentioned the post Ashes to Ashes and our discussion led to another analogy forming, which I attempt lay out for you below.
But, before I do, I would like to give a warm welcome to my growing band of international readers in Sweden, Ukraine, Bulgaria and Indonesia (Google stats for the blog are a wonderful thing - circulation ed)
So analogy time....
Let's take the initial pain and hurt that comes with the death of someone that you love, as being like the feeling in your finger as you rub it accidentally across the sharp edge of a piece of flint (type of stone used by people in the Stone Age for cutting before some bright spark worked out how to extract metals from ore and blacksmiths were invented - history ed)).
Initially this leads to a cut right through the skin of the finger, that somewhat surprisingly you do not feel. Then, moments later, there is the welling of blood, followed almost immediately by pain as your mind is flooded by a torrent of nerve signals, all shouting, "Pain, Pain, Pain". You rapidly withdraw your fingers, and you sop up the blood for a time (maybe with a tissue, maybe under a cold tap - ed) and after a few minutes the bleeding stops. Your body has protection mechanisms that come into play, staunching the blood, scabbing and thickening the damaged skin and the pain then becomes a dull ache, that leaps into sharp pain as you catch your finger from time to time during the day.
The next day you wake (mourning - ed), and as you reach into that pocket containing the flint (not really - ed), this piece of flint which is still as sharp as a razor bites through your skin again, exactly the same piece of skin and you bleed and suffer yet more pain and hurt. Again, you withdraw you hand and deal with it (possibly with some ointment and a plaster - medical ed)
Somewhat surprisingly you learn from this, and so you become more careful, and some days you do not find this piece of flint in your pocket. In fact, you make a point of not putting your hand in yout pocket at all. These days (named, "the keep your finger out of that painful pocket", kind of days - ed) give your finger time to recover, harden and so protect itself.
Days and weeks pass, and the flint is still there, but now it is no longer as sharp as a razor, its edge has been blunted slowly and painfully by each touch of your finger. The skin on your finger has now thickened and is tougher (callused anyone - literary ed), so that the flint finds it harder to get through and cause pain and blood.
The weeks turn slowly into months, and the edge of the flint wears. The now, callused (thanks - literary ed) finger, is blunting the flint more quickly and very few of your touches, if any, bring blood and pain.
Months pass, the flint is now well worn and your callused finger can now explore the flint without any chance of pain and begins to work at all the remaining rough edges of the flint to make them all safe to touch.
As the years turn, the flint is safe to touch and can be picked up, turned over, looked at and caressed from all angles. It is still there but it is no longer dangerous. The once callused finger has now fully recovered and the skin has once more softened. What is left is a scar.
So, we have been through a process, that may have taken some considerable time, where we can now think of our loved one without that instant pain and hurt. The pain and blood have been shed (grieving - ed) but the loss is still there (the blunt flint - ed) and can be at times uncomfortable but no longer draws instant blood and pain.
Afterthought
Thanks again to Esmerelda for helping me formulate the above.
No comments:
Post a Comment