the suffering itself

     My wife and I were out eating in yet another attempt to continue to live life.  One of the specific foods appealed to my wife and she remarked fondly that our son would've enjoyed it, as well.  The statement was one of remembrance and fondness.  A happy memory.  And without so much of a word between either of us, a heavy stillness fell.  We were both thinking the same thing but in a choked voice I said, "it's painful to think about happy memories, isn't it?"  We both started to have tears well up in our eyes and it was time to leave the restaurant.  What kind of personal hell is it that to have good memories cause pain?  How does one continue to live life, much less enjoy it when even happiness causes excruciating pain?  And if a pleasant thought can cause torture, how much more worse is the pain in the bad times?