Empathy is a Virtue?

A self realization that everybody is fighting a very hard battle, and we are all in this life together, is a concept that I believe allows freedom and clarity into your existence. The idea that my life is no harder than yours, for we all are temporary, and we all will eventually know sorrow, helps me to understand that all of this is much bigger than we are. We all will one day know the sorrow that I speak of, sorrow that consumes your mind and overtakes your every sense. Sorrow that comes from losing the love of your life, whomever that may be.

Being human means facing our own mortality, the mortality of the ones we love, and understanding that the temporariness of this life is very real. For, if you have known the depths of love that I have known, you will one day know the depths of sorrow that accompanies it. It is because of this fact, that I wish to ponder empathy.

I believe to truly empathize for another person is an art. This art form requires a quiet humbleness and a thankful heart. To feel empathy for another person you have to have the capacity to dive into their reality, strip away your own biases, and feel with all of your senses. This process can begin to allow you to truly see what another person is going through and feel what they are feeling. It is a difficult and scary process. It requires patience and being aware of yourself, aware of what you believe to be true. As with any artistic ability, I believe we all have it within us. If we nurture this virtue, practice it and believe in it, we all can use it and model it for others.

Curt was my life, my best friend, my lover, my leader, my husband. Together we made a little family, we were unstoppable. Over the last few months there have been times when I don’t know if I can go on. Time has lost all meaning, I feel bloody and weary, as if I just walked out of a battle field. Walking with my head held low, my body slow and cumbersome. As I walk like this, I am walking through my everyday life. I go to work, go to church, go on hikes, go to friends, and I do all of this with a smile. But, my smile is hollow, it doesn’t feel as whole as before. Something may be funny, but it’s not quite as funny as it was before. I will laugh, but remember mid laugh that he is not here to laugh as well, and it all fades away. I can literally feel myself fade and go grey. I have wondered if this feeling will also fade, I’m not so sure about that.

The subject of empathy has been prevalent during this process for two reasons.

First, I have realized that I need and want others to understand. I long for them to at least try, try to understand what it would be like if it were their husband that didn’t make it off of the river that day. I’ve realized that it has mattered to me if my friends are being mindful of what they say, mindful of their words or pictures of themselves smiling together, things that are shared around my aching heart. For, that is what it is, it is like an aching, bloody wound, and I’m trying hard not to get dirt in it. Waiting anxiously for it to scab over, ready to be able to go back outside without worrying about the elements scratching it and accidentally tearing off the scab. There have been times when I literally can’t understand why others are complaining about their life to me, and all I can do is stare back at them, numbly nod my head wondering if this is really happening. Are people really still worried about these seemingly insignificant things? Are they really saying “I know I shouldn’t complain to you, but, its my life, and it’s still hard”..?  

Like I said, I numbly stare back at them.

Which leads me to the second reason I believe that this virtuous word, empathy, is prevalent during my process. I have been frightened during this path of sorrow, that I have lost the natural empathy trait that I have always believed to be true of myself. I am scared that I no longer can listen to others without silently judging them for not being on their knees with gratitude for the life that they have. They still have their person with them on this earth. To me that is worth thankfulness and complaining in addition to this seems to me to not deserve empathy. And that thought scares me. Because, I know it’s not true. I am in a foggy reality and I am anxious for it to lift. I long to once again naturally be able to understand where others are coming from, to without hesitation climb into their reality and be a person for them to cry with or lean on. I know that I am attempting to do this now, I am just anxious for it to once again be second nature.

I know I will get there and I also know that sorrow has changed me. It has forced me to understand the depths of this world and the preciousness of life. I know I will continue on, I will return to being able to listen and not automatically shutting down. I know this because I understand that we all are fighting a hard battle and my life is no harder than yours. I am no different than others, these feelings I now know so well, will be known by all. I just happen to be going through it now, not tomorrow.

Reflection On a Common Question..

Many of my close friends have told me that people always ask them how I am doing. They share that this is often asked with a downward glance and a soft voice, as if they are bracing themselves for the news. The news that I can’t get out of bed in the morning, that I keep my shades drawn, and that I have no hope left. It’s a normal question and a weighted question in the same breath. I get this question as well. I never know what to say. My mind draws a blank and I search for what I should say. I’ve come to realize that this is a question that  our society asks each other constantly, while half the time not listening to the response or giving an honest answer.

As I think about how I am doing, one memory is in the forefront of my brain. In the past I’ve had to watch amazing people go through losing the love of their lives. I remember thinking there is no way, no way I would survive losing Curt. As they were able to keep breathing all I could think was that I just knew that if I had to go through that, I would die too, right along side my love. And, in a way, I think part of me did die that day. Part of my heart is so intertwined with his that it is no longer here, it is with him where he is now. I wouldn’t change that for a moment. It means I loved him with all I had, the complete opposite of what I am feeling now. Just as deep and just as profound. Equal.

But, I have realized that you don’t die completely. You live. You slowly live. Minute by minute you learn how to do this and how you are doing changes by the instant.

You still breath, even though at times it feels insanely hard to get enough air in. You eat, even though at times you have to eat just fast enough or risk letting your mind wander and losing your appetite. You sleep, even though at times you toss and turn feeling for them, the familiar warmth that is no longer there. You work, even though sometimes you want to scream and cry out, beg people to see that none of this matters. You carry on conversations, even though people talk about things that, to you, seem so absurd. All you can do is shake your head and think, life is too short, absolutely too short, to waste your breath talking about another person or to complain about a situation rather than accept it or make a change and move forward.

So, how am I doing? I’m devastated and broken, no doubt about it. I am angry, frightened, sad, lonely, and in a state of shock. At times, all these things at once, other times, one at a time, other times, nothing at all, just blank. 

But the thing is, even though at times I feel all of these emotions, I find comfort in knowing that 100% of the time I am made strong by knowing that I am Mrs. Curtis Van Alen Joyce. Having that name has made me feel that I could be nothing less than strong. Long ago Curt and I became one person, each with our own strengths that together made us unstoppable. I honestly believe that when Curt passed away on the river that day, I received all of his strength as well. Jesus knew exactly what I would need and gave it to me.

So, over the last couple months I haven’t died, I’ve continued to do what I know how to do well, be Curt's wife and partner. Hold my head up and make my baby proud. Honor him by staying true to myself and not letting the darkness take over. Be the person that he married, someone who believes in storybook love and who always strives to be positive. I believe that if during your darkest and most unimaginable times you are able to keep your character and be your best self, you can do anything during your time on earth. And, although the tears haven’t stopped, neither has my faith.