I was humbled during my walk today.
I rushed home from work and hurried as I got the kids doing chores and homework, prepared dinner, and got ready for company tonight. In the mail was a letter from my childhood friend. She and I only exchange Christmas cards anymore, but this year she wrote a note in response to my card. As I read her card, time slowed down as I slowly took in what she wrote. She told me about her father’s and sister’s deaths. I had immediate flashbacks to sitting around their family dinner table for countless meals, laughing at her father, who I adored. He could make this shy little girl laugh like no one else could at that time in my life. Her sister, older than us, was always kind and supportive. And way too young to die. My heart aches for my friend’s loss.
I went for my walk, thinking about my friend and her grief. My thoughts turned to the thousands of people in Haiti. People in so much pain; so many kinds of pain. And I wonder how they are coping or if shock is their coping mechanism right now. I heard devastating reports on the news today about how long it will take to unbury all the people out of the rubble. Months, perhaps a year. A sudden and temporary burial plot. My heart went out to the thousands of people in Haiti, those who died and those who survived.
My pain seems so small compared to what so many people go through each day. It’s so cliche to say it could be worse, but the fact is, it could. I am humbled as I remember that we each have something share with the world about our pain, even if it is never spoken. How we each deal with our pain sends a ripple out into the world.