Monthly Archives: January 2017

Empathy

It started this week, with the introduction of a special needs child into my son’s daycare. To be fair, my son is 9 and he’s trained in karate. I don’t worry much about him physically because I have seen him defend himself better than I could defend myself. But when I drop him off into a different room at his daycare on winter break because one of his teachers is quarantined off in a larger room with the newest child because she is having a meltdown, I am forced to take pause.

I don’t know anything about this child other than the fact that she is new to his aftercare and she has special needs. But what I see is a drink spilled all over the floor, the dress-up stand toppled over, and her one-on-one teacher and this child herself thrown into their own war at 8:00 am.

We couldn’t enter the room. My son had to go into the peaceful room with all the regulars. Still, my heart went out immediately to the special needs girl, her mom, the teacher, and my son who has only been taught empathy.

When my child came home bragging about his new best friend in 3rd grade, telling me about how he was ‘special’ and how sweet and endearing he was, my heart melted. When the same child tried to reconcile me with my own best friend over our summer vacation, my heart melted as well.

He is a sweetheart. Despite the fact that his dad isn’t around. Despite the fact that he could be very angry with the world right now. Despite the fact that, coming from a broken marriage, he is supposed to be a wreck. 

I am blessed.

Why?

I will take no credit.

My son as been partially raised by his older brother who has just turned 16. His heart, his sympathy, his sensitivity, he got it all from his brother, and he is amazing. They both are. People want to say that I’ve done an incredible job by myself, but in truth, I am blessed. Completely and totally blessed.

No matter what happens in my life, I will never want for anything more than that. Two sons with hearts, compassion, and sensitivity enough to accept differences, strive to be better, and enthusiasm for humanity. It’s rare in this world, and I am blessed to be an observer and a receiver. I don’t know that I deserve it, but they make me believe. In miracles.

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Pity Party

We all go there sometimes, with or without hats, streamers, and blow horns. We may have been invited by a disappointment, or we may not even know how we ended up there in the first place, hog-tied and teary eyed. Pity parties are the parties that everyone has gone to at least once. And if you have only attended once, count yourself especially special. We have a million things that make us happy. We have things in our lives that make our hearts smile, people in our lives that are there when everyone else goes to their own pity party and ignores the invite to ours. That’s okay.

That doesn’t mean they’re any less of a friend any more than it means we’re any less of a friend when we can’t step out of our own muck to join in theirs. Which is why reflection, during times of joy, is particularly useful and powerful for all of us. If thinking about what we don’t have can get us into our own pity-party, then maybe thinking about what we do have can get us into our own celebration of gratitude – which is typically much healthier, not to mention good for our spirits.

I spent too much time over the holidays indulging in my own pity party. I even pulled others in, and blocked some out completely. It’s easy for the guilt-ridden part of me to focus on that, to drown in my own stupid selfishness. But now that I’m done with that party and my sunshine has shone its rays across the horizon of life again, I find that I have no interest in going back. Sure, the raccoon bagged red eyes were a beautiful site. The hunched over zombie crawl of going through the motions has its haunting attraction. But maybe it was a little ungrateful and self-indulgent of me to be that version of myself. I don’t have Cancer. I have two amazing kids. I have some of the sweetest friendships, a man who loves me even through my obnoxious moments, and a dog who revolves her days around the comings and goings of her two-legged mommy. Sure, I’ve experienced lots of death & heartbreak. I’m 40.

Still, I have 100 New Years Resolutions, and only one year to make it happen. 365 days of self-pity-free openness to life. That should cover all 100 resolutions. I’m so far from perfect, and I’m not so rose-colored as to think that I won’t struggle with this mission. But like anything else worthwhile and life-changing, I’m taking it one day at a time. My wish is that everyone takes time this year to reflect on the good, take inventory of the blessings, to reach out to those who struggle more than ourselves, and journey toward that ever-changing silver lining. Pity parties after all are so 2016. 2017 is about JOYful gratitude.