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| Face turned away so you can't see the tears |
That may not sound like a big deal; and actually, if you know me you're probably thinking, "you cry ALL the time!' That's true; I cry a lot--but mostly it's because I'm happy or proud (particularly of my children) or sad for someone else. I even cry when I'm mad, but this time it was because I hurt physically, and I was frustrated and tired and overwhelmed and embarrassed--it's a different kind of crying, and I hate it.
Long story short; I was 2 1/2 weeks post knee surgery (a surgery I have since learned was the "most challenging complex" surgery my orthopedic surgeon had ever done--he might even write about me in a medical journal--wish that made me feel better), I had gone to Virginia for the weekend to see my son play his final lacrosse game of the season, gone to a fundraiser, and had dinner with Chris. I couldn't get out of the restaurant fast enough and I was embarrassed. One of my parishioners works there, and I knew she could see it. It made me feel weak. I could see the concern on her face (she really is amazing and loving and kind), and I felt horribly that she was worried about me.
When we got home I curled up (well as much as I could with a knee that couldn't bend all that much) on the couch with my back to Chris and my face buried in a pillow, and I sobbed gut wrenching sobs. Chris came around and tried to put his arms around me; he said all the right things. I just wanted to be left alone and I told him so.
The next morning wasn't any better. I put a notice on my email I wouldn't be able to answer quickly knowing I really just didn't want to interact with anyone. I wanted to isolate.
Throughout the morning I thought about the difference in how I was responding and perhaps how others respond. I thought back to that horrible day years ago when Caroline lost her pinky and how Chris and I reacted--he needed comfort; I needed to be left alone. My response or lack of response to Chris's needs still haunts me, but that's another story--(Caroline lost her pinky and I got a deeper faith)
I struggled through my physical therapy exercises thinking about all the people who have done the same. My mind then went to so many people who have gone through struggles--particularly health ones. I thought about how sometimes I call someone and ask them if I can come visit and I'm told no. When that happens, I reluctantly admit, I sometimes make it about me. Why don't they want me to come? Are they mad at me? Don't they know I just want to help?
And I thought about people who want me to come every day and how I don't understand that and sometimes it feels suffocating and just too much. (I cannot believe I just wrote that....)
Here's the thing. People respond differently. What people need during crisis or times of struggle and pain differ. It's a time we have to acknowledge we are looking at and responding through our personal lens of what we would want, and instead respond to their needs.
But wait there's more....
Left to myself I would have isolated all week. I didn't want anyone to see me the way I was, and I didn't have the energy to pretend. I didn't post all week on social media--for this over the top poster that's kind of a big deal; I didn't feel like writing thank you notes and I LOVE writing thank you notes. I just wanted to watch tv and do my exercises and be frustrated and sad. I didn't want to talk to anyone because I didn't want to put on a cheery positive attitude, and I believed that's what I had to do. I do think my preference needed to be honored, but I also know I would have slipped further and further into a funk if others hadn't stepped in.
I received text, email and phone messages. Some I even responded to. Those messages, whether I responded or not, gave me a life raft--I felt buoyed--held up and together until I could do it myself. No one seemed to get mad or hurt I wasn't responding (if you were please forgive me). A couple of people stopped by for quick visits and to drop off meals. They didn't stay long; I think they knew. I was given grace and space.
Tuesday night I received a text. A friend and I had plans for Wednesday. I told her I wasn't really up for anything. She responded, "If you want to cancel that's fine, but I can also come and just sit. You don't have to say or do anything." Wednesday came, she came, she took me to PT. She sat for an hour with me and then she took me home. A couple of days later she sent me a picture of me during PT with these words, "I was going to snapchat this to your girls with a smart ass comment, but I could tell you were in just too much pain and even I the smart ass of all smart asses couldn't stand to do it."
Yep, I cried. That was a testimony of pure love and friendship. It said, "I see you; I hurt for you and right now your needs are more important than anything I want to do. I can adapt for you."
So here's what I've learned and I hope I can remember. We need to respect the needs of others--and to do that we might have to actually ASK what they need/want and not put what we would want on them. Even more difficult is we can't make it about us. AND we need to respond as a community of love in ways that continually let others know we care, sometimes that means pushing them a little and sometimes it means backing off, sometimes it means wrapping our arms around them, and sometimes it means resisting even when our arms ache to hold them.
Grace and space and love and community--
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