Pieces

It's funny how parts of a whole work together. A sentence isn't a sentence without the verb and the subject. Puzzles don't show a picture unless each piece is accounted for. You need two socks for a pair, four quarters for a dollar, and twelve eggs for a dozen. Our language wouldn't be the same unless each letter was there and our writing would be incomprehensible without punctuation (except in the case of James Joyce).

So what happens when you lose a part of a whole? How do you cope with the loss of a part of a group? Any other whole can't make up for the lack of a piece. There is a lingering incompleteness. Even if you try and repair that piece, fill in that quarter with some nickels and dimes, you still know it isn't the same. Why then do we think that people are more fluid? If a quarter can have some much impact shouldn't a person have more?

We enter into groups either voluntarily or involuntarily. Even if we don't always see the purpose for the group or understand the individual parts of the group, we persist. Surely a loss can be beneficial to a group at times, beneficial to the person leaving or entering, but it doesn't stop the fundamental change. How then do we fill in the gap? The apostles voted in a new member, but somehow that seems lacking. Too many times we don't stop and mourn for the dissolution of a whole. We move forward, we adapt, we make promises that change is for the best, but we don't look back, never look back, forward, onward, full speed ahead. A mission is to be accomplished and there isn't time to mourn.

I think we should mourn. I think we should stop and remember that some dynamic has changed for whatever purpose that may be. I dread the day when I can't be saddened by the loss of a piece.