What price Pain?

I am the age where my nieces, and my children's friends are marrying, and bringing precious new children into this world. On the other side of my life are my elder friends and relatives, some in poor health. A most poignant weekend was spent at the Grand Canyon, where my niece Megan was married. What a joyous occasion! Two different families living states apart, are brought together to celebrate love, and a lifetime commitment made, a new family created, all with the most beautiful backdrop of the cliffs of the Grand Canyon. My dear Uncle Jerry, his wife Barbara and cousin Kathy flew out from California to attend the wedding. Although they were struggling physically, he was determined to come to the wedding to see our family. Mom brought them up in her motorhome, to make the trip a little easier, but he fell several times and had difficulty walking. I think he knew this may be his last big trip, and he loves his sister, my Mom, so much. He was able to see all 4 of Mom's kids at the wedding, and almost all of her grandchildren.

Jerry had cancer surgery several years ago, and the past year has been very difficult for him and his family. Once health problem after another with he and Barbara, leading up to learning last week that the cancer has spread, it's all over his body. Turns out he was right, and his time on this earth is now very limited. It got me thinking about how we come to earth, what we do here, and most intriguing, how and when we leave. I could see the determination in his eyes during their visit, and the comments about this may be the last time he sees the Grand Canyon, Prescott, and all of our family together again. He was saying goodbye to the places of his youth, and the people he loved. What do you say to someone when they comment -"This may be the last time I see your house" "I love Prescott, this may be the last time I can get over here." I just looked him in the eye and said 'I'm so glad you came, and can see the places you love again.

I remember as a child, Mom and Jerry took us to Disney land, it had only been open a few years. We went to the castle, and many fun places, then on to the Pirates of the Carribean. Poor Jerry! At that time he was single, no kids, and suddenly he had a little 5 year old on his lap in a boat, in the dark. I cried, no, actually wailed and bawled, all the way through the Pirates ride. He kept trying to settle me down, showing me they weren't real, but in a 5 year old mind, pirates running around, chasing women, and houses burning looked pretty darn real. I'm sure it was a very long ride for all of us, and the people behind and in front of us. But Jerry was so sweet, and just kept hugging me and comforting me. He's always been that way. My Mom is his only sister, and they are so close, they call weekly, check in on each other, provide love and support to one another. He always tells us kids how much he loves us, and how special we are in his life. I know he loves his children and grandchildren, and I am so glad he has so much love and compassion for our family too.

Yes, the price of love can be high, we have the chance to love and support each other, and then have to prepare to say goodby to loved ones. In our mortal existance, it's times like this the physical limits of these bodies are made jarringly real. Maybe the pain of losing loved ones is too high, if we kept ourselves guarded, less open to pain, it would be easier. Then we would rarely really connect with others, though, always keeping something back, protected. To me, that is too high a price to pay, not being fully involved with family and friends, never letting anyone know who you are inside, and not letting them share their lives with you. I think we really are the sum of our experiences, and the choices we make. The choice to forfeit protection for involvement has a price, but one I'm willing to pay. I am so convinced that our spirits live on, that I plan to ask Jerry to say hello to Grandma and Grandpa for me, I'm sure they will be waiting for him. My prayers and thoughts are with his family, and ours.