Sorrow up close

I was at the University of Michigan Hospital today for an appointment. I made a visit to the ladies room when in walked two women, likely sisters, who looked to be in their mid sixties. They both were crying inconsolably. Just unabashed sobbing and heaving. They both proceeded to the double sink and began to splash water on their faces, but the tears wouldn't stop. They grabbed for paper toweling and attempted to dry their faces, but it was so pointless as the tears were coming from a deeply primal place. Their gutteral moaning as they sobbed was so wrenching to hear, and their tear stained faces, distorted with pain were a picture of sorrow. As they passed me trembling I muttered "I'm so sorry". One of them looked at me with a hollowness that telegraphed "You cannot imagine our agony" and then they left.

In my ridiculous ponderings of life and fairness and red rubber balls, I need to remind myself that pain is relative. We all get a turn, but by and large, I am still in the lucky group. My children, though two of the three have faced difficult physical challenges, are still here, and still vital and recovering. I am blessed, I am so blessed. All three of my children are darlings, total blessings in my life that I could never profess to deserve, and yet they were loaned to me during this lifetime. What a gift is that?

What can we do but to see life, with all of it's pain and sorrow, joy and happiness as a beautiful gift and savor it all?

Carpe Diem, I shall try. Each day, seize it, clutch it, grab it, shake it, kiss it, hug it, wring it out dry and then wear it as a mantle of honor.

Those women in the bathroom, God bless them for what ever horrible loss they were facing, whether loss of a person, loss of health, loss of what they thought their lives would be like, now altered. God bless these women with the strength to endure.

One woman I know who lost her son to cancer last year, recently told me that the grief after losing him is so difficult she merely asks herself every day just to breathe. That statement is so starkly honest, it gives me chills. Breathe, sometimes that's all we can do.

Today, and in the days ahead, I hope I can somehow communicate to those whose tears will not stop, whose agony is heard in their aching cries, that I see their pain and that I wish them comfort. To recognise those among us who are suffering, and be present with them as they try each day to breathe, is all we can really offer. I hope it's enough.

(please note that the photo is a stock image from the Internet)