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Vine Leaves

Then we came to a tavern with vine leaves over the lintel, six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver, and feet kicking at empty wineskins.

TS Eliot, Journey of the Magi

This stanza of TS Eliot’s “Journey of the Magi” is rich in Biblical allusions. The vine leaves are a reference to Jesus as the vine (John 15:1-7) while the lintel reminds the reader of the blood spread on the doors of the Israelites, allowing the Angel of Death to pass over their houses (Exodus 12). In this passage, the Magi stand on the threshold of conversion. The choice is clearly theirs: to step in, or to stay out. It is a choice we each make on our own.

It has been a painful journey for the Magi, arduous and long. But the journey has been one of purification, required as they shed the entrapments of their former lives and enter into the Kingdom. While Eliot continued to maintain he had no “conversion experience”, it is clear from his poetry that the ideas were fermenting in his mind for years. In The Four Quartets (1943 ), he wrote:

Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,

And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,

And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,

The surface glittered out of heart of light.

This is a lovely illustration of both the Magi and Eliot on the edge of conversion, moving from the “dry pool” into running water.

The last lines of this passage are also a foreshadowing of the end of the story: Judas’ betrayal of Jesus for 30 pieces of silver (Matthew 26:15), the parable of the wineskins (Matthew 9:14), and the soldiers dicing for the Robe of Jesus (Matthew 27:35).

The care of a chronically ill spouse ends in one of two ways: recovery or death. 70% of marriages with an ill spouse end in divorce. As Ron’s ongoing illnesses continued to steal him physically and mentally, I was forced to see the likelihood of his death. In those hours after his funeral, when the family had all gone home, I knelt by my rocking chair and said, “Thank God, it is finally over.” Five years later, and I am still not sure if I was thanking God for the end of the horrible day, or the end of my years as a spousal caregiver.

REFLECTION:

It is not easy to contemplate the death of a loved one. It was not until after my husband died that I became familiar with the term, “anticipatory grief.” In a way, it helped prepare me for what was to come, a foreshadowing of my future as a widow. What has helped you to see or accept an inevitable end? How has it strengthened you?

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Linda Cobourn

Linda Cobourn picked up a pencil when she was nine and hasn’t stopped writing since, but she never expected to write about adult autism and grief. When her husband died after a long illness, she began a remarkable journey of faith with her son, an adult with Asperger’s syndrome. The author of Tap Dancing in Church, Crazy: A Diary, and Scenes from a Quirky Life, she holds an MEd in Reading and an EdD in Literacy. Dr. Cobourn also writes for Aspirations, a newsletter for parents of autistic offspring. Her work in progress, tentatively titled Finding Dad: A Journey of Faith on the Autism Spectrum, chronicles her son’s unique grief journey. Dr Cobourn teaches English as a Second Language in Philadelphia and lives with her son and a fat cat named Butterscotch in Delaware County. She can be contacted on her blog, Quirky, and her Amazon author page.