I just got home from the hospital after visiting a friend of mine and his live-in girlfriend, who suffered a stroke about 2 weeks ago. I hadn’t been over to see her yet and felt guilty. I was thinking about this and the past two weeks as I sat in the parking lot prior to going in.
Her stroke occurred at a time when I was experiencing my fair share of “heavy,” and I wasn’t responding well to any stress. I felt completely overwhelmed. When I found out about the stroke, all I could manage was just putting myself out there for them in case they needed anything. Regardless, I felt horrible for not having been present before now.
The shame really set in when I walked through the door. I felt so horrible for them. Sitting there and watching them interact, I couldn’t help but feel extremely emotional about what I was seeing. Everything is day-to-day right now for them. She suffered left-side paralysis and has had at least two blood clots since the stroke. I watched my friend as he assisted the woman he loves. He set up her dinner and rolled her over onto a support pad for her lower back. I know they both have to be scared to death. I can only imagine how their minds have to be racing as I’m sure they get hit by fear every couple of minutes. I know all too well about the layers associated with personal struggles, and I can only imagine the types of questions they are asking themselves, both individually and collectively.
The thought of experiencing another tragedy or loss of some sort has been an unconscious fear of mine since Shani’s death. I remember, when my folks came to visit me in South Florida last fall, how I kept thinking they might get in a car accident along the way. I still deal with this type of fear on a daily basis, but I’m more aware of it now. I’ve had to work on accepting the fact that life does, in fact, go on. It doesn’t stop simply because I am grieving. I know there will be more loss, and today, as I watched my friends, I witnessed life “going on.”
I was talking to a mutual friend of ours prior to the visit, and he shared some of his own life losses. He explained how difficult some of the things he’s faced in life have been.
And then he said, “Pain is pain.”
I told him that I say that a lot.
“I don’t always allow myself to believe it, but I do say it,” I told him.
I've connected with a number of people along the way that have dealt with their own circumstances as a result of tragic loss and/or death. I’ve shared stories with them, finding common bonds, probably mostly in an effort to simply connect with people again. Until I began interacting with others who also knew the depths of that kind of pain, I felt completely isolated. I believed my pain was worse, more tragic and that nobody could or would ever really understand.
Pain is pain, I would often think, but if the truth were known, I didn’t really believe it. My pain was worse. I would try to accept other people’s pain as equal to mine, and I would try to understand that everyone’s experience was just different, no more or less painful than mine. I could say it, but I didn’t truly believe it.
Today though, as I watched my friend with his girlfriend after her stroke, I finally felt it.
Pain is pain. It’s unique to the individual and the circumstances at hand, but pain is pain, no more, no less. We each feel it in our own ways based on our own life circumstances.
I’m grateful for what I experienced today, not in the sense that I was happy that I wasn’t in their situation or for knowing that I have a lot to be thankful for, but I realized that I am no longer in the early stages of dealing with my loss. I’m grateful for that insight.
When I saw my friends today, I recognized that their pain is much more intense than where I am right now. I do the best I can in dealing with my situation, some days better than others, but as time moves on, I see myself getting better and better, adjusting to a life without Shani.
Seeing my friends so early on their road to recovery breaks my heart. I know they’ll be okay, and I am confident she will be on her feet again in no time. She’s very strong-willed. I also believe they possess the faith to guide them through, and I know they will have plenty of support as well. I also know that if I can learn to adjust to my situation, then they will adjust to theirs. I know they will. I know that things will get better, but today, thankfully, I felt their pain.
Please pray for my friends. They’re wonderful people who would give you the shirt off of their backs. I love them dearly.
not sure if their pain is less....pain is pain. good luck, my friend
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written. Great realization. You just don't and can't know any one person's pain and experience and I agree that it can't be measured from one to the next... it's apples and oranges. There isn't a scale. Love to you. Hope to see you this weekend. KOE
ReplyDeleteRick-I'm sorry if you understood me to be insinuating that at all. The point I was attempting to make is that there is no comparison to be had.
ReplyDeleteThanks KOE.
To be pain free must feel wonderful...I can't remember how that feels.I am glad to see you trying to recover from your loss of Shani.G
ReplyDeleteMike,
ReplyDeleteI agree with what you say,pain is a case by case basis,and there are degrees,when we talked last week or 2 weeks ago,even though the conversation was about something totally unrelated,I felt inspired by the strength in your voice,you know what Renee' and I have been through this year,I explained it to you that day,and your words were very enur healing couraging,Good Luck on your healing journey and call anytime, Steve Dover
I'm not sure that pain is pain, other than on an abstract basis. I always feel my pain. No matter how sympathetic or empathetic I am, I can't truly feel another's pain as they do. At times, I may even feel more pain for them, than they do for themselves. In this case you may be feeling more pain than your friends are actually feeling. You may want to ask them. My conclusion is that pain is a very individual and personal thing, even when shared - But sharing helps for sure.
ReplyDeleteRegarding fear, I've had much of it in my life and have spent a lot of time on the subject. My current understanding is that: Fear = Lack of faith. Other things play into this as well, i.e.: I'm afraid an outcome won't be what "I" want. This involves a lack of faith, but other character defects as well.
Greetings, readers! My name is Sean, and I'm Mike's co-author. This is my first time chiming in on this blog, but I felt this was as good a time as any.
ReplyDeleteI've now sat with Mike for 2-5 hours per day, nearly five days per week, since January. Having done that, I think I've kinda gotten to know him a little, and I think I understand a little bit about what he's gone through. I can't relate at all because I've really not lost anybody close to me in a tragic way. In fact, very few of my loved ones have even passed.
But, I can say that I believe what Mike is saying with this post is that for the longest time (more than a year), he has had a hard time allowing anybody else's plight to rival his in his mind. After all, who do you know who has lost their best friend/wife/soul mate to a brutal murder at the hands of their very own son? Well, nobody else I know, except Mike. In fact, matricide is one of the rarest of all types of murder. Because of how tragic this crime was, how close Mike was to Shani, how spiritually connected they were, and the shock and trauma that was covering him, his experience seemed worse than any other to him.
And, the reality is...it probably is. The problem was that this made it nearly impossible for him to experience empathy toward anybody else or anybody else's situation. His was worse. Theirs was less. And, as a result, he felt isolated. Nobody understood.
Mentally, he knew this wasn't true, but he couldn't make himself feel otherwise. People just didn't understand. How could they?
Over time though, he's had moments of connection with people who had suffered great, often tragic, loss. He's felt empathy toward them and their plight. He's experiencing that very real human emotion, but it's always been in conjunction with someone whose loss "seemed" almost as severe as his own.
His experience with his friend at the hospital, watching him with his girlfriend, seeing their pain, their fight, their struggle...well, it was just another stepping-stone in the process of healing, of trying to become whole once again. He felt for them, but he also recognized how far he had come.
Pain is in fact pain. It is certainly unique to each of us. But, one's pain isn't necessarily less b/c a situation is less tragic. The way one person handles a divorce can be very similar to the way in which another person handles a death. Our experiences are our experiences, regardless of what others think.
Mike is beginning to allow himself to believe this. Pain is in fact pain.
Your pain is just as valid is my pain. His pain is just as valid as the other person's. This doesn't mean everybody's pain is the same; it just means that it isn't necessarily just situational or really up for judgment. When you stand in judgment of another's reaction to their life circumstances, you are in fact saying your pain is worse. It might in fact be, but that's not for us to say.
I think Mike is coming to accept this. It's a slow, arduous process.
Anyway, Mike, it has been an honor to be by your side nearly every day, watching you grieve but also heal. It's not been easy, and I'm sure I've failed you at times. I'm quite proud to know you as my friend, and as so many have told you, you truly are an inspiration to the world. You have taught me invaluable lessons already, and I expect many more. Keep giving selflessly, even amidst the struggle, and your healing will continue.
I love you, my friend!
Sean
Thank you for that Sean. It's always fascinating to me how people can read/see or hear the same thing and have such a different inerpretation of what they've read/seen/heard. Human nature I guess. We all see things through our own lenses. CMK
ReplyDelete