A World Without Love

April 2, 2010

Before I had ever experienced the loss of a loved one, I thought it would be like it is in the movies. How silly is that? I thought that I would feel the person's presence with me everywhere I went. Much to my shagrin, it hasn't happened that way. At first I thought something was wrong with me. I really did. Wasn't something mystical supposed to happen? But there was nothing but emptiness and aching.

I started reading a new novel, Blue Water (A. Manette Ansay). Now, don't think I'm masochistic here of anything, but it's about a couple whose only son was killed in a car accident by a friend of theirs. Well, it's really more about their healing from the tragedy. Anyway, in the book the main character talks about the very thing I was just writing about. About how she expected magic to happen so she would know her son was still with her, but that the magic never happened. It was oddly comforting to me to know that this character in a novel was processesing some of the same things I had. It really took me aback to read that. It was like I was reading my own words.

The same day I read that section of the book, I decided I wanted to get out and go for a nice long walk. I strapped my camel pack on my back, grabbed my MP3 player, laced up my tennies, and headed out the door. I wanted to get to The San Xavier Mission. The sun was shining and the temperature was just perfect. It was a beautiful day for a walk. There were lots of other walkers out too, heading to the Mission on their own private pilgrimages. Two men were carrying four foot crosses as they made the trek.

There's a small hill next to the Mission with a shrine a little more than midway to the top. Apparently in 1852 there was a sighting of the Virgin Mary at that spot. That was where I was headed before I turned around to go back home. When I got to the spot, I looked out over the view of Tucson spread below me like a picnic blanket. And then I sat next to the shrine for a few minutes. For a brief time, I was the only one there. The shrine is embedded into the side of the hill with a fence protecting a statue of Mary. All along the fence were letters that people had tied to it, flowers, even pictures of people. One picture in particular caught my eye. A young man in a hospital bed.

Do I believe that spot is particularly magical? No. I don't. I don't think God responds to prayers (if I believe he responds to prayers at all) because of where they are prayed. That didn't keep me from praying for friends of mine who are going through hard times right now though. But what do I pray for for them? Can I really ask God to take away their hardships? Can I ask God for a perfect world? I didn't just pray for the illnesses and heartache to go away. I hope that doesn't sound bad. What I prayed for was the strength to face whatever comes their way, for their spirits to open to the goodness and love that is available to them, for comfort, and for peace.

I realized that I really don't want to live in a perfect world. I wouldn't know love if I did not know disease. I wouldn't. It's that simple. And for me, there's no point in living without love.