There is a scar on my finger.
There is a scar on my finger.Not a healed scar, from a cut. It doesn’t hurt, not really. It’s just a place where the skin is a little smoother, the flesh underneath indented, a bit.
My thumb still wanders over to the underside of that finger. It’s been a year, and the alien novelty of skin is still surprising.
People who have had amputations often still feel the ‘phantom limb’ as thought it were still attached. A simple glance to the gap where the leg used to be will dispel the illusion. This is not so simple, when what has been removed is still here, but not here.
I guess this is grief. Something is missing. Things don’t feel right, will never feel right.
‘Get on with your life.’ I hear. What life? That spot on my finger was never supposed to be naked to the world, once it was clothed in gold.
When someone is laid to rest, they don’t come back. What they did, who they were lives on in the memories they created, in the people they touched. Fond memories, or horrible ones, it makes no difference. Seeing a picture might trigger the pain again. But…
They don’t come back. Echoes and memories. Absent. If they caused pain, they can’t anymore. If they caused joy, the memories still can and do.
This is different. There is no body to bury. The flesh that once was one is now two again, and there is nothing left of that body but a scar on my finger.
When old age or disease, or accident takes a person, we call it Natural Causes. We blame bad luck, or hard living, or God’s wrath, or God’s mercy.
When one person takes another’s life we call it murder. When someone takes their own, we call it suicide.
What do we call it when the violent death of one once whole is done by part of the one, leaving two parts again separate?
Divorce.
There is a scar on my finger.
And the missing part of my life is not just an echo, a memory.
I lied about the scar not hurting. It pains me every time I see or hear about the one who caused it. The joyful memories, the absent echoes cannot drown out the tearing, ripping of one flesh into two. It does fade, after a moment. Sometimes it’s not so bad. Sometimes it’s more than I can bear.
It leaves a scar on my heart. 2 weeks ago