HAULING THE HEAVY LOAD

"There is no coming to consciousness without pain."

Carl Jung

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand."

Henri Nouwen

 

Our humid Houston weather can feel oppressive.  I recall landing at the airport years ago back from a Las Vegas trip.  As we walked down the jetway, the change in humidity from the arid desert air to the humid Houston air was almost palpable.  I actually felt pressure on my chest with each breath while I adjusted to the change.  As a caregiver, the pall of sadness can be just as oppressive.  We hurt too as we watch each difficult effort our loved one makes and takes.  I don't have mobility issues, but every time I watch Ernie struggle to walk from the car into a restaurant, I hurt for him.  He teases me when I mention my empathy by asking me if I'd like to trade places.  

 

Sadness for me comes in waves, based on the level of his struggles that day.  When he is having a good day emotionally and physically, my sadness is abated for a while, but like a menacing playmate in a game of hide and seek, it's always there ready to jump out and surprise me when I least expect it.  I have prided myself over the years for my ability to maintain stoicism in the face of critical situations and not cry.  Now I find myself tearing up at the slightest provocation. I am learning to cry as a natural release for my own sadness and find when I do, everything feels emotionally cleaner and brighter.  I am learning to give myself permission for that self indulgence when I need it.  

 

My first reaction when I am feeling sad is to separate from everyone and everything, to crawl over in the corner and lick my emotional wounds like an animal separates from the pack when it is injured.  Yet I realize that when I do that, I am isolating myself and increasing the weight of my sadness.

 

I know today that I cannot stay in the sadness any more than I can attend those pity parties.  When I am trapped in my own sad thoughts until I am stuck in a kind of mental loop, I know today that there are a number of options available to me.  I can stand up and move away from my computer and do something physical.  I can leave the house and enjoy lunch with a friend.  I can get lost in a novel.  I can phone a friend.  In other words, I can seek a diversion, any diversion that will bring some balance into my day. 

 

Night sadness is harder.  The crushing sadness that sweeps over me in the middle of the night and seemingly 'just appears without warning' requires different actions.  When that happens, I pray, I send my mind to past experiences that brought joy to my life: our wedding, the birth of our daughter, a silly or happy memory, and I use the deep breathing until I'm able to fall asleep again.  More often than not, the sadness is lifted by morning and the beginning of another day.  

Along with sadness comes acceptance that the situation we are living in and through is sad.  The effects of this disease are sad in their manifestations.  Yet, we do have this day with all of its possibilities, and to the extent I allow others in and allow them to touch my wounds and genuinely be with me, I am able to experience this day to its fullest.