The little things give you away

(sorry for the prolific writing. Floodgates have opened, and sadness is always the most prolific writing time for me. This is actually cross posted from my private blog)

I've been struggling with a myriad of issues. It's not just about Dad being sick: it's all the crap that goes with it. Your entire life, from the top on down, is affected. Nothing stays the same. People you thought were your friends, as it turns out, aren't. But then you find friendship and support in the most unlikeliest of places. I've spent months being really angry about it, feeling abandoned and ignored, and only recently have I begun to understand it. 

Life isn't perfect. Fifty years ago, our grandparents understood that. Past generations knew. People were used to struggle and hardship, they didn't expect life to be smooth sailing. There were horrible wars to be fought, there were epidemics of influenza, polio, measles, mumps - diseases we don't worry about that back then would wipe out tens of thousands of children. There was starvation, there was the dust bowl. Life was hard, and you tried to take joy in the little things in life. 

We've come a long way from that era. We are in a world of total excess. We are the society of 'gimmee', of instant gratification. Twenty four hour news desensitizes us from the horrors in the rest of the world, though most people don't pay attention to the news, as it's 'too depressing'. We shop at Costco and buy our chicken nuggets in bulk, we buy more food than we could possibly eat, and live our lives like the glossy cover of a magazine, never wanting to delve  below the surface. We envy, we covet, we buy into the facade. We believe our lives are supposed to be perfect. I admit it: I moved to suburbia and I bought into the lie. I believed that I had to fit in - and fitting in means having more. It means masking reality. It means: no tragedy.

When something bad happens, you can see some people recoil. It's palpable, visible on their faces. It's like the lions picking out the weakest member of a herd - they sense the weakness. Some people don't know what to say. They know that they should say something - but you can tell that when they ask 'how are things?' - they really just want the stock answer. And it's those times I have to struggle to not be rude and say 'really? Don't bother.' - because I feel sorry for them, I do. I'm sad that they're so disconnected from other people that they are completely unprepared for dealing with any raw emotion. 

Then there are those that just don't want to be around it, period. People that are so focused on presenting the perfect, idyllic, strife-free life that they are woefully unable to deal with sadness. They think that illness and death is somehow contagious, like an airborne virus they'll catch just from being in the same room with me. It will infiltrate into their painted on perfect life, and eat away at the facade until they, too, can see they it's all a lie.

Am I judging? Yes. And I do it unashamed and unabashed. Because here's how I deal with tragedy and loss: when my neighbor was sick and dying of breast cancer, I went to see her at he hospital, several times. It was difficult, and I dreaded doing it, but I kept thinking: if the roles were reversed, and it was me dying, what would I want Buffy to do? I would want her to suck it up and come see me. 

I'd never been around someone who was dying before. You could feel it in the air. It was oppressive, dark. Death was crouched in the corner, waiting. The last thing I said to her, I whispered in her ear I would keep an eye on her kids, I'd look out for them. Because if it was me? I would've wanted to hear that. This is where I differ with the vast majority of the rest of suburbia. I am able to put myself there. I am over actively empathetic. I always think 'that could be me.' Easily. Where do I get off thinking that nothing bad will happen to me or my family? The hardest part for me is faith. I struggle to hold onto my faith. I pray for guidance. I don't pray for miracles. God doesn't strike bargains. I believe He has a plan, but sometimes I think His plan sucks. I try to make the best with the hand I'm dealt. I try to make each day good, even if it's in the smallest, most imperceptible way. And I try to have compassion and empathy for everyone, as best I can. Because I always ask myself: if it was me, how would I want to be treated? How would you want to be treated?