Yesterday started like any other day. Got up. Brushed my teeth. Stepped on the scale. Wished I weighed 8 pounds less than I do. Off to breakfast.
I decided to journal for a few minutes before breakfast, a new habit I’m supposed to be adopting because it is supposed to create clarity, and blah, blah, blah.
About 10 sentences in I write a sentence that comes straight from my brain into my pen, like a bolt of electricity. It didn’t even bother taking the generally required pit-stop in the Acknowledgement and Awareness Department, a required step issued by the Think and Check-out Department. So I was totally shocked when it showed up on the paper.
“My Empathy Is a Gift”
I immediately put the pen down and began yesterday’s blog. I cried through the entire writing of it, amazed by the fact that I accepted myself. I had moved to a place where the albatross around my neck had become my pet bunny, and we were having a snuggle-fest. And, I was in awe.
Without realizing it, my empathy had become a compass that guides me. It gets me where I want to go. But now, it’s as though it has a built in barometer. It keeps me away from the vortex of the storm. I am no longer drawn into the energy of other peoples pain. I can see the funnel cloud in the distance. I know it’s power. But, it no longer sucks me into it.
As life would have it, the lesson for the day was not over. (Although why one truly earth shattering, mind blowing realization per day is not enough, I’ll never know.) My blog produced an outpouring of shared stories, heartfelt support, and appreciation.
Realization # 2. I mattered. My voice was finally heard. Somebody ‘got‘ me....in fact a whole lot of somebodies. It was the warmest, coziest feeling I will ever have. And, I will remember it, and cherish it always. I thank you.
But, there were still many hours in the day and apparently that damn Personal Growth Fairy wasn’t done yet.
At about 2, I got a call that my mom was being rushed to the hospital after having collapsed. She is 87, with failing health, and dementia. Stroke was suspected.
My folks live 7 hours away. My dad has insisted on being the sole caregiver for my mom. Her incapacitation has caused him to become completely isolated from the community they have lived in, and been active members in, for the last 15+ years. He is alone.
He was alone. Holding my mom in his arms while she remained unresponsive for 12-15 minutes, wondering if he was going to lose her for good. He was alone when the ambulance came. He was alone, driving himself to the hospital. And my heart ached for him.
I cried for the man that is too proud to admit he needs help. I cried for the man who can’t bear the pain of losing his beloved partner so much that he can’t even acknowledge that he’s overwhelmed and desperately needs a break. I cried for a man alone. I just cried.
And, it was ok. I was ok. He will be ok. I can’t lessen his load. I can’t remove his pain. I can’t face his loneliness, bear his loss, or his reality. It is his journey. I will walk beside him. I will comfort him when he allows me to. I will support him when he asks me to. And I will listen, even when he is silent, because his pain will speak to me.
And then, I will let it go. It is not mine to keep. It belongs to the energy that is the circle of life.
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