“Aww.” Patrick says I say that a lot. Not like, “Aww, how cute.” But like, “Aww, a kitten.” A sick kitten. A starving kitten. “Aww.” I say it when he says he doesn’t feel well, and when he says he is having a heart event. I say it every single time. He pointed it out, I think, because it annoys him. But I told him, “Let me have it.” Let me have this instinctual reaction my mind has developed to situations that touch my heart; to situations that provoke a reaction from me rooted in empathy and concern. Let me have it. There are situations in our life together where I lack empathy. One popped up recently where I had to tell Patrick afterwards, “I’m not a saint.” It was a hard time, and while I won’t go into great detail, I can summarize it here. When someone is sick or uncomfortable it can affect their mood. Patrick often mentions his dad, who passed away in 1989 from a very similar condition to what Patrick now suffers from. He tells me, “I understand why we had to walk on eggshells around him.” I wish I had been able to meet Patrick’s dad. He was a formidable person, but I believe he loved his family fiercely. But I can understand when you face the end of your life much earlier than you ever would have anticipated, and you have to do it while nauseous all the time, in pain, and suffering from heart episodes that leave you wondering, “Is this the one?”, that you won’t always be in a good mood. And who is closest to you? Who are the easiest targets? Your loved ones. I have cautioned Patrick, “You shouldn’t chase away the people who love you the most.” You guys know him. You know his joking personality, his zest for life, his precociousness. He is somehow a grown man, a toddler, and a teenager, all wrapped up into one body. He picks his nose on the church live feed. He has cultivated lasting friendships with random cashiers at Fred Meyer, often loudly asking them if the party is at their house and if they’ll supply the booze. He tells bazaar goers not to loiter at his table in a strange and weirdly successful attempt to strike up a conversation and draw them into his space. He is a character. But that’s not to say the jokes are always nice, or the comments warranted. There is a darker side to chronic illness, and that is how it can affect someone’s mood. While I implore you to have grace for your loved ones afflicted with the pain and discomfort often associated with these ailments, I also suggest you care for yourself as well. Yourself. The caregivers. The loved ones they chase away. I am fully aware my role as “caregiver” is not what it could be. My role entails the occasional mad dash from outside because a child has come to tell me Dad is having a heart episode. Its occasionally applying the blood pressure cuff and frantically looking for the oximeter. Its rubbing his back, cradling his head to my stomach as the episode roars through his body and we both pray. But thats 1% of the time we spend together. My role as caregiver is not full time. I am wife. Friend. Confidante. Patrick and I clash sometimes. It happens, especially with two people as polar opposites as he and I. His vivaciousness collides with my tranquil nature. His jokes invade my calm. My chaotic organization is in direct opposition to his desire for an empty sink and folded laundry. But a long time ago a wise man gave a message on EGR - Extra Grace Required. He said there will be people in our lives whose presence require we up the ante on grace-giving; that we operate in a manner that filters our interactions with these people through a prerequisite of grace. Patrick is often one of these people. And that’s one of the reasons why I love him. He keeps me on my toes. I said earlier that I am not a saint. I have my own feelings and emotions, my own reactions to life’s hardships, and my own coping mechanisms. One of those is to immediately draw on my empathetic nature and to respond with, “Aww,” when something touches my heart. And Patrick’s pain and suffering will always - ALWAYS - touch my heart. So let me have it. Being human is a singularly extraordinary and unique experience. Before my life is over I plan to run the gamut of emotions, because I can. That includes love, anger, happiness, confusion, surprise, sadness, and yes - empathy.
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