I invite a few close friends over for a grown-up tea party, and before they arrive, I rhythmically move around the table arranging cucumber sandwiches, lemon bars, scones, and cream. I set out my beloved Noritake gold rimmed plates, teacups and saucers — our wedding china. I smile remembering all the times I’ve used this china, and I think again how thankful I am to get to love on my friends and myself by using it once again.
Because the good life is for giving ourselves a little attention by enjoying the good things rather than keeping them hidden away.
I set out the porcelain tea bag holders and the silver stirring spoons. Then I realize I forgot the water goblets.
And then I remember one friend won’t be joining us, and I find out-of-nowhere tears falling on my table.
It’s silly to be crying, really. I mean, this friend didn’t die. We didn’t have a big fight or a dramatic falling out. Our friendship just changed, unfolded into a new season. And that new season has me a little sad because, ya know, I just miss her.
I stare at the dining room chair at the end of the table and briefly contemplate taping her picture to the seat-back. Or maybe even just leaving one seat empty in her honor? I don’t, of course, because that would be, ya know, a little crazy.
But sometimes we want to give the loss a tangible space to be remembered.
Not long ago, a new month yawned and stretched. It set off down the road wearing the usual dangly hearts like jewelry. This is the time when the subject of love gets a lot of attention. But for many, loss is the tagalong companion to love, and it’s impossible for that loss not to get a little attention, too.
Will you continue reading here with me and join the conversation, too?