The Dinner

The actors were gathered around the table at the fine-dining restaurant, waiting for the five-star meal about to be served. The delectable meal arrives. All are going through the motions of biting, chewing, and swallowing. Everything is tasteless and bland like a bad batch of cream of wheat. Even the perfectly matched wine is flavorless.

Smiles and jokes occur with other wasted small talk. The emptiness in the actors’ hearts is palpable. The dinner companions avoid the weighty subject. No one dares to speak of the grief that hangs heavy on their shoulders. No one wants to break the facade of the fake moment they have striven to create.

At the conclusion of the meal, goodbyes are said, and everyone leaves for their homes. Silence. Now, I can breathe again. No fakeness. My actor’s mask fell off. The reality of the remaining grief can be released. Real tears of remembrance can fall.

Those that the actors held dear are no longer here. They are held by our Savior. To speak their names during the meal was just too much. It might have released a tourniquet that had been tightly held in place since their departure. The actors did not want to open the wound.

I know in my mind and intellect the Savoir has them close to his heart. It does not fill the void in my being. My heart breaks with longing to hold them once again. One more dear sweet kiss on their brow. A whisper of “I love you” in their ear. The return of their love in the embrace, the genuine smile, and whispers of love back. All of it confirms the deep love of a bond blessed by God.

Oh, grief is the hardest of journeys on this side of heaven. The acting will continue for a lengthy time. One day, the flavors of life will be savored again in the five-star meal. The joy will return, and the moment will not be faked.

The longing will always remain. It will be tempered with a tear or two instead of a deluge. The actors will no longer have to hide behind their masks. A salute with glasses raised will ensue, and the name of the missing will be called out. That previously unnamed piece of their heart will open. The joy of remembering will follow.

Not yet. Not yet

One day, one day. . . maybe at the next dinner.

Blessings,

Ellen