Feeling Another’s Pain — Accepting Our’s ~

The other morning, I entered the elevator at the hospital. It was 0615, I was tired and wishing I was still in my warm bed at home. I was followed by a younger woman and an older man. They resembled one another and I assumed it was a daughter - father pair. As the door of the elevator closed, the man let out a heavy sigh… the kind of sigh that came from a heavy heart. The anxiety in that tiny elevator was palpable, as the daughter reached across and touched her father’s arm. Their eyes met and their connection was undeniable. I felt their pain and anguish. The door opened on the surgical floor and they begin to exit. As the daughter stood in front of me to wait on her elderly father - I touched her shoulder and just gave her a nod and a smile. Words escaped me at that moment, but I wanted her to know I felt her pain. How could I not? Their expressions told stories of apprehension, fear and concern. The love between them was tangible. The daughter’s eyes as she looked at her frail father’s face made my heart ache.

My father died when he was a young 56 years. Fortunately, he had been fairly healthy and I hadn’t had to bear the burden of accompanying him to a surgical appointment. But being a neonatal nurse for over 20 years, I had felt the pain of many mothers and fathers as they’ve held their dying babies. One father saw me years later and verbalized his appreciation for crying the day his son died. How could I not cry, I felt their heartbreak. That’s how I live, so it wasn’t a difficult task to feel the pain that spring morning in that tiny space.

I arrived on my floor and entered my unit, ready to start my day. My heart was sad and I wondered often that day how the father had done and if his daughter had someone to support her. I offered a prayer on their behalf and wished I could do more.

Accepting their pain came as second nature for me. Accepting the pain of a new mother trying to understand the loss of her tiny baby came as part of my life as a nurse and the mother of a healthy daughter and two babies sleeping - as they await Christ’s return. Two second trimester miscarriages, I never allowed myself to mourn until now.

Why is it easier or second nature for us to accept the pain of another, but yet, we deny our own? As much as I’d like to find a clear and simple reason, I find it impossible. Was it my childhood and watching my parents torn apart by infidelity? Or was it my own marriage that failed early due to the same? Was it how I was parented, being the second daughter of four children? So many questions, so few answers that could truly be confirmed.

Is it necessary to continue searching for those answers? Will it decrease the chance of failure with my new life? Will it increase my motivation? Perhaps not.

More than anything, I want to be successful, but at what cost? It’s painful reliving the past, while picking apart every event, every experience and every hurt with a therapist. If a new life will be mine, through better understanding of my old life, I am ready, willing and with God’s help able.

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