PAIN

I have written a lot about pain.  Well, here's more.  It is a never ending, always interesting topic because it is so mysterious, and also, so omnipresent.  Today, I was asked about my father (EFR Dion in this blog).  I found it impossible to define him to the interlocutor without mentioning his daily companion, Pain.  For years the man hardly ever had a pain-free moment.  It is amazing that he even managed to have a sense of others with the constant heat of the devil's fire that he had in his leg and lower back.  Yet, he had his light hearted moments.  It has crossed my mind very often that it was not the physical pain that kept him serious.  I have always been convinced that the fact that he had a rather short life free of true responsibility made him a real serious dude.  I also came to know that if we thought  that he was tough at home, we were lucky that we didn't have to work for him.  All reports have it that he didn't suffer fools lightly.  My closeness to him showed me that in his life there were many more fools than in the lives of less tightly wound managers.  I have to confess that I have a similar perception of the world's population.  I think that I am going to get sent behind St. Peter's shed because of it too.
One of the interesting aspects of this conversation is that it is happening, not by design, mind you, at the very threshold of what would be his 98th birthday.  Here I sit at nearly three quarters to a buck, and he didn't even make it halfway to 98.  But you know, in his condition, it was better.
I also think of the way the world has developed and I wonder if he would have survived under similar circumstances just a mere ten years farther along, say, mid '70's.  Despite my many reminiscences of him, I always come back to the deliverance from the pain and I thank God for letting me understand life in that light.
Also, I have to say that I think that tolerance to pain is a part of our lives.  We have two sons who are tough as nails when it comes to pain.  One of them has the gout very badly, but despite the slower movement that it imposes on him, I have never seen it stop him.  I have seen "The Voice from the Kitchen" endure pain for rather long stretches without "sitting it out", so to speak.
I have had some pain in my short life, but nothing compared to the daily suffering of my father.  The deepest thought I have about him, in the depths of my being, is that he knew that the pain was not his to keep.  It was his to convert into spiritual energy for those about whom he felt responsible, many of whom he loved, but couldn't reach except through the sublimation of his pain.  This thought started to grow in me some years ago, sprouting from compost too complicated to describe in this space.  I am convinced that this sublimation continues to touch us to this day.  Hey, it has to be us, we're all that's left.
The first stirring of the thought began on the way home from Enfield on the day that I left the seminary and he drove me home.  We didn't talk much, but there was a lot of communication going on.
You know, if I let myself go, I could write a book about this.  Gouty fingers and all ... :-)!