Sharing the Pain

How do we know how deep we are to feel for others? I know some people going through difficult times. In each case there is little I can do to actually help. I can be supportive and encouraging but beyond that, I can’t do much to actually improve their situations.

A dear friend is suffering. In the past few months she has endured a family tragedy, health concerns for her and her husband, heart-broken parents who are themselves in fragile health, and much uncertainty in regard to her job. I want so much to make things better for her but always feel I come up short.

Last week I tried to help another family. This past June two students from m son’s high school and their fathers were killed in a small plane crash. The high school has been trying to help the families by providing meals. Since my transportation issues have been resolved, I finally signed up to provide a meal. Calling in advance to confirm delivery, I spoke to the Mom. Our conversation left a hole in my heart.

She expressed how wonderful the high school has been and how helpful the meals are. When she lost her husband she went back to work for the first time since she had children. I asked their ages. “Three girls,” she said. “Ages 11, 13 and 14. Not only do I have to be Mom and Dad but I have to deal with all these hormones as well. It’s nice not to have to worry about what’s for dinner.”

She asked if my son knew her son. I had to admit that he did not. “My son is a junior. He works so hard,” I said. “But he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“It’s a great school,” she said. “But we never got that far.”

Feeling my composure slipping away, I politely but quickly ended the conversation. She wanted to talk. The one thing I could do was listen, but I didn’t want her pain to creep any further into my world. I feel terrible about that. I could have told her that my son wears an elastic band etched with her son’s name. I could have offered other assistance. It may not have helped, but I didn’t offer.

The next afternoon when I placed my meal into the coolers on her driveway, I couldn’t help but notice what a lovely home she has. I wondered who mowed her grass. Who did all those other chores that are usually the domain of men? It was a glorious spring day and I couldn’t help but think of how easy it would be to be joyful if there weren’t so much sadness.

I am haunted by our brief encounter. I know that I can’t help by being sad for her or my friend. I just pray that they can see the beauty and momentarily lose their pain in the magnificence around them.