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Finger Pie--Second Pie of Grief: A Series.

Updated on February 19, 2014

Raisin from Denial

Pie of Anger
Pie of Anger | Source

Raisin' Grapes' Anger

Finger Pie

Okay. Don't bother. This stage needs no introduction. It introduces itself quite brashly-- one finger at a time. Actually, just one finger: a skinned totem 'shooting a bird' in this bleak sky. I think you can see where this is going. Do you not? Are you still with me?

Wait! I really don't give a flip if you aren't. 'Cause this is the phase of steeled fists, flared nostrils (imagine Nancy Grace in her repetitive, nightly t.v. rants), dazed moments of suspension and disbelief. No mercy. Not now. No apologies, naturally.

So, we launch this universal intrepid gesture. It never loses its sting! Never. (I wonder why it still packs such an epic punch after centuries of abuse.) Yet, there's that ever-unsavory, raisin-infested pie just waiting on the wings of denial. Weary. It is born out of the same emotional spleen. It's none other than Finger pie!

This pie has nothing to offer in taste--and it doesn't serve to answer the pivotal question necessary to advance beyond the first two stages. What question, you ask? Let's say this altogether.... Okay? Ready? Feel it... as we boldly plead, " Why me?!"

Raisins, like anger, remain with us until they rot in their gooey crust... No one honestly embraces them. Some pretend, the way denial-dwellers do, that it's most palatable. Those shriveled remnants of grapes-- grapes that stayed too long. Are they not painful reminders of mincemeat? Which, as we all know, is the first pie we need to toss (or, let go of to some extent; probably a finger at a time!) to get past this uncomfortable place of healing. Raisins are the guests who've stayed more than three days.

All of this raises one question.... How? How do we eat our way through this pie in a way that's both efficient and quick? How do we nest in this crust until life grants us amnesty and releases us to the next, best pie?

Ms. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, from what I can glean from her seminal words; suggests that the more you allow the raisins in, the quicker you'll digest them, and the sooner the anger will give way to a slightly better pie. I know... I can't promise a good pie right now. And, certainly not a great pie. So what's the good news here?

Beneath these angry raisins, is a crust that's smarting. No.That's not the good news, for pies' sake! The gem in this is that anger is strength--it bolsters us to a pie shelf which can tether us. A place to hold onto while the raisins ooze beneath us, rather than remain awash in a sea of lost, hollow-cheeked grapes. A platform of sorts to that next pie over the hill.

And, what lies over the hill? Do you smell something baking? In the meantime, lets keep the finger pie raised and brewing, and keep following the trail of pie. Can you taste it?


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