Life Is Harsh, But . . .
Temps dive to minus 30 in Minneapolis, minus 20 in Chicago. Wind chill warnings abound, schools close and we read about the polar vortex. I emailed my farm friends in Southern Minnesota wishing them warmth for their cows and fortitude with the increased work of shoring up water pipes, and providing food and shelter for their animals. I was glad I no longer had the responsibility of my twenty acres: packing hale bales around the outdoor automatic waterer, bringing horses and donkey into the barn, making sure their water doesn’t freeze and feeding them extra hay and grain, adding additional hay bales to insulate the chicken house, giving them extra feed, checking water and despite all that watching the hens’ combs grow gray from frost bite. In the house, I left the kitchen sink cabinet open so the poorly insulated pipe wouldn’t freeze. Whew!! It was exhausting.
I am also thankful for safe and warm housing and whisper prayers for the homeless and those creating safety for those living on the streets.
Last week it was single digits here along the bay in Rhode Island. Steam rose above the bay, the water being warmer than the air, creating an ethereal world. The lighthouse in the distance, surrounded by clouds seemed part of another world. Ice formed as the tide went out and created a ledge of texture and color as the tide rolled in. Birds and ducks puffed out their feathers and positioned themselves in the sun during the early morning, bills tucked under their wings or energetically feeding. On three different occasions we found a goose alone on the beach, unable to weather the cold, separating themselves from the flock to die. Seeing the dying geese reminded me of coming to terms with life’s harshness as a child: chickens killed by a weasel or our own dog, a Iamb born outside dead because of the freezing temperatures. An ache rose in my heart, the same emotional response that I had felt as a child. Life is hard. Suffering exists.
Current events remind me of the world’s harshness: the dark and light, the cruel and kind, the corrupt powerful and the victims, and the good and bad in each of us. The great religions teach this: The Bible and Qur'an wrestle with good and evil. Buddhism speaks of the inevitable pain and suffering which are part of life. Hinduism explains that suffering and evil in is central to the concept of karma.
So given these cruel realities, how do I respond? Reed brought this NYT essay to my attention. It is a wonderful reminder of what motivates us to make the decisions we make and how the writer came to terms with the horrible moments in her life and those of others.At War: The Day They Came To Tell Me My Husband Died.
Day They Came to Tell Me My Husband Died
We may not have control over the events, but we do have control over how we respond and share difficult news with others. Breaking bad news is a frequent topic in health profession education. The essay reminds us that it is not so much what you say, but the compassion with which it is said. To take it a step further it reminds me that in my own loss and grief people sometimes say the most unhelpful things, but if I can remind myself that they are trying to reach out, trying to let me know they care, trying to express empathy. When I understand the empathetic intent I can accept the damnedest words with appreciation.