How Breaking Bread Mended My Heart, A Love Story.

Come, sit. Let me tell you a story.

Some time ago, I met a wonderful family. I could expound on this concept, but it isn't relevant to this particular tale. Let's assume I trust you to believe me, while you trust me to tell the truth. I treasure them, this family. Over time, they moved into my heart. They became part of my family. Then life threw them an unexpected turn and they realized they need to move. Far, far away.

OK. Not 'far, far.' It's 9 hours by car. But a car can get you there. So I suppose that only qualifies as one 'far.'

Regardless, I cannot impulsively decide to have tea around their table (or mine). I cannot visit with them once a week, scattered around the living room, discussing the important things. I cannot meet them at the park and bask in the sun and conversation.

You get the point.

I try to be comforted by the conveniences of modern technology. Text messages, email, social interfaces... these things are available to us and we will use them. It's not a long term comfort. I will miss loving them in person.

I am significantly comforted because I feel that this move is the right thing for them. They need to be 9 hours away (by car, but less than 4 by plane). They will love their new home, they will build new community, they will step into something remarkable. I believe it, and I go on believing it in the face of grief for their absence.

For this is a story of grief.

Loss is a funny thing. Sometimes it will sweep you up and eat you alive and those days the tears won't stop. Other days you almost forget, taking care of the things around you. And everything in between. Each loss has it's own flavor. This grief is radically different from grieving for my mother - and that is Right and Good. But the differences don't allow me to prioritize these events, and that is also Right and Good.

As I was enjoying my morning coffee, I knew my friends were on their way home. They have to take different routes, on different schedules, but they will end up there together. Which means that I will have to learn how to love them from Far Away, a task seeming insurmountable so early in the day. My heart hurt for their absence.

In the grand scheme of life, people flow in and flow out. More recently, another family flowed into our lives. They, too, are remarkable in their own ways. We are starting to understand each other, learning each other's stories, and we are growing in friendship together. Without realizing it, I had scheduled a luncheon with them for today, the day I must accept the reality of Far Away, the day I must keep living Here instead of There.

I panicked a little over the luncheon. I am desperately nervous when I invite others to sit at my table no matter how long (or well) I've known them. I do find it easier to deal with the anxiety the closer my relationship is with these companions - which means I had trouble getting past it today. I was serving an additional four people and struggled with being confident in meeting everyone's taste. In the end, I settled into a smorgasbord, piling my solid wooden tray with deli meats, cheeses, pickles, and crackers. I reached for the bread I had baked recently, and then set it back. In it's place, I picked up the fresh, inviting, wonderfully brown loaf my sister of heart had given me last night during our last scatter around the living room.

Everyone around my luncheon table had a piece of this bread. I had to fetch the loaf from the kitchen to slice more, and then I set the remnants of the loaf on the table beside me at a place of honor. I told my new friends about the bread baker and our fondness for her and her family. And while we snacked on bread topped according to personal style, we found again the flow of life. Bread from the hearth. It feeds the soul. It soothes the heart.

For this is a story about grief. And inside every story of grief, there is a story of healing. Maybe that healing is functional - just enough to get you through the day. But sometimes that healing feels like what was broken has been mended and is stronger than before.