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April 23, 2015
ache (n., v.)
My hand has felt naked all day. I was typing on my computer when I looked down and it really settled in: My silver ring is gone.
The ring that I've worn continuously for the last 9 years non-stop, save for taking it off briefly and only when absolutely required (i.e. when playing volleyball or tennis); the ring that made a very banal summer's day so long ago all of a sudden very important because it marked the beginning of our relationship - the moment when I found this ring and carefully put it on my left middle finger. Little did I know we'd stay together for so long!
Over the years, I guess it kind of became a part of me. Simply, it dressed up my hand that otherwise goes unaccessorized (were it not for my watch or my increasingly scrappy threads from India). It also helped me record the passage of time - mostly the coming and passing of summers, as it neatly left traces of pale winter skin hiding under its silver protection.
Just looking down at those tan lines - like footprints of an old friend - and thinking about having lost it triggered these words to run through my head: "I feel an ache in my heart."
What a silly thing to ache for! A thing! Yet, I can't help feel this way.
This got me thinking about how we actually come to sentimentalize loss, romanticize that which we had - and how this exposes our too-often inclination to forget what we still do have.
I've lost many things in my life, from relatively unimportant objects to relatively very important people - and everything of each in between. And every time I feel that first ache the exact same way. A pulling tear in the heart - a heartache.
When looking up the etymology of the word ache, I found this (pun intended):
An interesting addendum: The spelling of both noun and verb was changed to ache c. 1700 on Dr. Johnson's false assumption of a Greek origin (akhos) for "pain, grief," from which the word awe (and not ache) actually came from.
ache (v.) from Proto-Germanic akanan, ag-es- "fault, guilt," represented also in Sanskrit and Greek, perhaps imitative of groaning.
Funny that we've mixed up "pain" and "guilt" in our evolving understanding of this achey feeling that we get when we lose something. Perhaps we'd like to think the reason we ache is because of awe, that mixed feeling of dread and admiration for the holy one-of-a-kind thing we have lost - when really, at the heart of that ache may actually be guilt.
What did I do to deserve this loss? Could I have stopped it?
In the case of my ring, I know the answer - and it may be true for other things we lose in our lifetimes, too.
For one, I was careless. Likely because I didn't realize how much it meant to me. I neglected to appreciate it, and now it's gone. It also took me 48 hours to notice it was gone.
To lull this achy rustling in my heart, groaning won't help.
The best I can do is learn from it by looking back fondly on this thing I lost, is remind myself to feel more gratitude for the many important things that often go unnoticed and under-appreciated.
For now, I'll use these tan-lines as a reminder - of the ephemeral quality of everything that gives each thing its value. And when the lines fade, too? I'll be thankful, because guilt and pain - like everything - have something valuable to offer us for a time - and then, too, are gone.
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