The number 5 represents that added something that brings the situation out of balance again.  It represents the struggle and challenge of inner and outer growth.  Cups are associated with emotions, love, pleasure in life; matters pertaining to the unconscious, intuition and the inner planes, and the element of water.   This card often symbolizes the need to let go of our emotional connection to something that has passed out of our lives. 

Looking at the figure on the 5 of Cups card in the Celtic Tarot I was struck by something - the man standing there is wrapped in his cloak and holding it closed across his chest.  His sword rests across his body and his left hand grasps the hilt.  He wears a helmet and other garb that makes it seem he is readying for a battle.  At first this was a bit puzzling and then it hit me - he is doing everything he can to protect himself from the pain of his loss.  How does a warrior deal with emotional pain and loss?  He tries to hide it from everyone, including himself.  He can take on another warrior.  He can fearlessly face another in battle.  Facing the loss of someone or something about whom he cared might have the power to bring him down low.

It's funny but I've never considered before that the cloak (including that full length black one on the RWS card) might be a form of protection, of shutting out the reality of the pain.  After all it's one thing to tell someone "don't cry over spilt milk" or that they shouldn't focus on what has been lost but focus on what remains.  That can be very positive and helpful but does it allow the person the time to actually feel the pain; to mourn and explore how this loss has effected him or her? 

I remember when my brother died and people would tell my mother "well at least you still have 3 children left".  I'm sure they meant well but the implication that the rest of us could replace Tom was horrifying to my mother.  It almost seemed blasphemous.  We often do this when we lose someone or something for which we care.  How many times do we tell someone whose beloved pet has died that buying another will help them process the loss.  It somehow devalues the life of that person or pet.  It makes it seem as though they are a cog in a machine and one cog is as good as another.

12 years ago my adored German shepherd, Rebel, died.  I still miss him every day.  He was a special dog and we bonded with him in a way that isn't always possible with pets (animal companions, whatever).  Before Reb my husband has a Norwegian elkhound named Rollo.  Rollo was a beautiful and intelligent animal who thrived on outsmarting the humans in his domain.  To say he suited my husband's personality would be an understatement.  Rollo died a year or two after we brought Rebel home.  Rebel never took the place of Rollo, nor was he meant to.  We loved both of them in different ways and for different reasons and we still miss both of them.  Not a week goes by that we don't talk about some of the shenanigans they got into.

My husband lost his older brother to an accident in 1978.  I never met this brother-in-law but I feel as though I know a lot about him because the family talks about him all the time.  They honor his memory by sharing his story.  I do the same with my brother Tom.  If someone asks me how many siblings I have my response is always that I have 3 - one brother who died and a brother and sister who live in NJ.  To do otherwise is to deny Tom and he was too special to deserve that.  I miss my father, despite the fact that we fought a lot and he made a lot of mistakes as a parent.  He had good qualities too.  My father-in-law is still very missed by all of us.  This has made me realize that the healing process, for me at least, is not about putting it behind me and moving on.  It's about finding the way to share this person's life and the joy they brought into mine rather than focusing on the pain I feel because they are no longer here. 

Maybe that's the key to the 5 of Cups - to be able to incorporate the loss into who we are and not lose sight of it but to no longer be devastated at its memory.  As Kirk tells Sybok in Star Trek V "my pain made me who I am" (okay I'm paraphrasing here).  That is so true.  We don't always appreciate what loss has taught us in life.  Of course it might not have been a pleasant learning experience at the time, but once we are healed a bit perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to consider it from a different perspective and find the value in it.  I'd hate to believe that it's just the result of a cruel and indifferent universe.