Never Alone

"For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others,
 for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness, 
 and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you
 are never alone."    - - Audrey Hepburn

You know, it's funny - I guess it ISN'T funny - what people will say to others without thinking it through. 

I was having a conversation with a dear friend earlier today. This lady has been my friend for about 15 years, and she is the kindest, sweetest soul who came into my life when I needed such a soul in my life. 

And right now she's hurting - mourning the loss of a family member. A family member who just so happens to be a beloved pet, one she has had for over 17 years. And she was telling me what some folks have been saying to her. 

They don't bear repeating. Suffice to say that the comments have been dismissive and unthinking, diminishing the importance of her pain because the loved one she lost had four legs instead of two. 

I wanted her to know that she was not alone. That there are people - fortunate, sensitive, and beautiful people (like us) who see the good in others (no matter what the species), who speak words of kindness (yes, even to such unthinking humans) and who have walked the path that she is walking now ... who know the pain of losing a beloved family member, be that two-legged or four-legged. For ... as I told her earlier, grief is grief, and it means that we have loved someone or some creature enough to feel something when he, she or it leaves. (Queen Elizabeth II once said, "Grief is the price we pay for love.") 

There is much to be said - when someone has experienced a recent loss (especially of a pet) and a person just can't understand "why there is so much fuss about it" - for silence, for being comfortable with NOT understanding, for NOT giving "pat answers" that might snuff out what little bit of hope the person might have. 

Photo "Lonely Woman On The Beach" by
Sira Anamwong at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Loneliness kills. The pain of loneliness is something that outlasts physical pain. A person can feel isolated and abandoned in a crowd, and he or she can feel the loneliest when nobody appears to understand his or her experience.

Let's sit with those who've experienced a loss, and let them feel the pain, talk about their loved one. 

Let's just LISTEN. That's all. 

That's the most comforting thing a person can do is just to BE there and let that friend know that whatever he or she feels is normal. It's normal!! It's healthy to be sad when you've lost someone. The important thing for a grieving person is to know that that person is never alone, that there is someone to talk to, that there is someone who cares. That "being there" can give someone a tremendous gift: dignity ... self-respect ... the feeling that what they feel and think matters.

There is no need to ask questions in those moments of fresh grief about "what happens now." The time will come when those questions can be asked, but not now. Not yet. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Feelings are not bad or good. Feelings ARE. And people have a right to feel them. Being told that we shouldn't feel bad (or good) is a form of abuse that reaches down into the core of who we are. We were hard-wired for feelings, for relationships, for love. And when we remember that we are not alone in this experience, it makes getting through it so much easier.

Life is not a competition. It's a journey. It's better to go through it together in cooperation than trying to prove who's right and who's not.

It is better to look for the good in others, to speak only words of kindness, and to let each other know that we are never alone.

Tommy

When I was fifteen, I went to see a movie that, had my parents known what it truly was, I would never have been allowed to go to. It was the original rock opera, "Tommy" - featuring Elton John. Basically, it was the story of a young man (Tommy) who was deaf, mute, and blind, and who finds his niche playing pinball, to the point where thousands of young people wanted to emulate everything about him - even putting plugs in their ears and covers over their eyes and mouths.

I was completely weirded out by that movie - it seemed so chaotic and surreal to me (which I guess was the idea). I was most freaked out by the scene of Elton John wearing a rhinestone white suit and three-foot-high elevator shoes and falling off the stage into the crowd... but we won't go there today.

Of course, what made it an opera was the music. The songs were somewhat memorable; everyone who went to this thing remembers "Pinball Wizard" of course, but the thing that stuck with me most was just a line in the middle of all that chaos, the internal voice of Tommy, singing "See me. Hear me. Touch me. Feel me." 

Tommy didn't care about the fame and acclaim. He didn't want anyone to like him or hate him. He didn't want to be "fixed" or to "fix" anyone else. He just wanted to be seen, heard, touched, related to. He didn't want to be what everyone else thought of him as being. The one who was known only as the Pinball Wizard soon became a one-trick pony, trotted out for everyone's amusement. Nobody thought of him as anything more. Deep within, though, he longed for some semblance of humanity, of connection. He, like everyone, wanted above all to know and to be known, to matter for who he was, not for what he could or couldn't do. 

"Woman Hand With Microphone" photo
courtesy of thawats at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I've sung that song inside of my spirit for many years since. There have been times that I felt that some people hung out with me only for what they could get out of me, that either they stayed away from me because they thought they couldn't do what I did (especially in the singing area, even though that gifting was not of my own doing) or they flocked to me and wanted me to trot out my one trick for their enjoyment. 

Even in the area of regular interpersonal relationships, I've often felt like poor Tommy, seen as two-dimensional - nothing but appearance - with people playing out their own agendas on me rather than actually taking the time to know what I'm about. I've frequently caught my inner self singing that melancholy plea, "See me. Hear me. Touch me. Feel me." 

Thankfully, a few precious people have done just that. I've been blessed with friends who, even if they don't understand fully, at least try, and by them trying, I know that they care about me, not just the surface - and that they respect me too much to give me trite answers that follow whatever party line they (or I) adhere to. 

When I share a problem or open my heart ... I'm not asking for someone to mount their white charger and ride in to rescue this damsel in distress. I already have a White Knight; I find the One sufficient. 

All I'm seeking is to be seen and heard, to have a touch-point, to know that there is someone who can relate to me or to my situation, to have someone acknowledge my feelings and to tell me I'm normal for feeling them. 

That's all I can ask for.

Last of his kind

He considers himself the last of his line. His offspring includes only girls.  And he's grateful for that.  

He thinks that it's unfair to perpetuate the kind of heartache that has been so much a part of his family for generations, passed down from father to son.  

In his determination to do everything the opposite of the way things were done to him, he has instead become the first of his kind  -  the first to be kind, the first to actually leave a legacy worth remembering, fond memories to look back on.  He may feel unworthy ... but so often, great men do feel that way.  

He was the first in his bloodline of the last hundred years or so, who actually chose his children over his career.  He dropped things he wanted to do - things that would wait until he got to them - so that he could sit down on the floor and play games with them, listen to their concerns (no matter how small), care about them, or thank them for their help, no matter how great or small their contribution.  His subconscious motto was (and is) "People before things."  To this day, his children know they can go to him with their problems, trust him with their feelings, and he'll listen to them without judging.  He listens because he was never listened to by his own dad and he knows how important it is for kids to feel loved and accepted, to have a safe place to land.  

He personally considers Father's Day a useless holiday.  Yet if anyone deserves to be honoured on Father's Day and every other day of the year, he does.  He raised himself and his younger siblings.  He had no model to go by, nobody to look up to, but he's been a rock, even more so the last three years or so.  And his wife and children look up to him and would go to the mat for him... any day of the week.  He's a wonderful life partner ... and a fantastic dad.  

I just wanted him to know that.  Happy Father's Day, honey.

Tears are a language

The double-standard is shocking.

Women feel overcome with emotion - and nobody thinks twice about them shedding tears.

But let a man do it and eyebrows raise. Some of the most insensitive, thoughtless comments have come out of people who saw a man cry in a situation in which it was entirely appropriate for him to do so.

"Straighten up."
"Be a man."
"Get a hold of yourself."

Personally I believe that (just as a woman is never more feminine than when she cries real tears) a man is never more masculine than when he dares brave the social norms of today's western culture and shows his emotions. He's demonstrating to those around him that he is comfortable enough in his own skin to be honest about how he feels inside of it.

I'm not talking about crocodile tears here. I'm talking about real, gut-wrenching emotion.

It's a powerful thing. Emotion is not wrong. In fact, it can be the most right thing in the world: a catalyst for change, even. Think how many people were moved with compassion when the earthquake hit Haïti in January 2010.

Emotions were designed to be transient, temporary states of mind. The feelings of fear and anger are warning flags that something is wrong - and expressing emotion (whether in joy, sadness, anger, pain, or fear) relieves stress and helps our bodies achieve equilibrium. They signal to us what things are the most important to us. They connect us with our dreams, with our passions, with our callings. They tell us when a boundary has been crossed - or if a wrong needs to be righted. They keep us stable - as long as they are allowed to touch us as they pass through our spirits.

Since God created us in His image - all of us - and He feels things deeply, it only stands to reason that we would do so as well. It is healthy and good to experience emotion and be able to express that.

It's what we do with our own emotions that can enrich or stifle our lives. Stuffing emotional pain down inside of us and not letting it out - or holding onto it long-term without dealing with why - only builds up internal pressure and leads to physical sickness: high blood pressure, heart disease, stroke, kidney problems and so forth.

If those strong emotions are directed at God - and let's admit it: sometimes we get mad at Him - He can take it if we want to vent at Him. "He's got broad shoulders," my mom used to say of certain people when I was growing up. I think that applies to God too. He "desires truth in the innermost parts." And He loves us through all of it.

If the emotions are directed at someone else - that's okay too. We can take them to God and tell Him the truth - "Hey God, I can't deal with that $U^%$^ person who hurt me (or who hurt someone I love) - I want to forgive him/her because I want to do what You've asked me to do - but I can't. This is what he/she did ..." and then pour it all out, cry, scream, rant, rave - whatever it takes. He'll hold us in His arms and let us do all of that, and still love us. That's actually the beginning of the healing process, the first step toward forgiveness.

But until we are honest with Him and with ourselves, healing can never start to take place. The tears we shed are precious to Him - they speak volumes heavenward like spoken words could never do - and God understands that language.