Pain is something each one of us has to deal with. However, pain isn't the same for all people. One of my roommates showed me how the little pain for me can be huge for someone else and the huge pain for me can be little for someone else. She had suffered a major neck injury and even years later I witnessed the horrible pain she felt from it. It was hard for her hearing others complain about a sore neck when she knew first hand what true neck pain could be. She never let it bother her. She was a huge example to me of how we shouldn't judge and how we need to be aware that everyone feels things differently.
The most pain I have personally ever felt was a different kind of pain. My little sister died when I was about twelve years old. It still is the hardest thing I have to deal with. My class at school sent me flowers, a teddy bear, and a binder full of personalized letters from each student. I felt like each letter was exactly the same. "I know what it feels like," they would say, "my great-great-great-great grandmother died when I was three. It was hard for me." Of course that is a bit of an exaggeration, but that is what it sounded like to me. I hated it. They didn't know what it felt like. I lost my little sister. She was two years old, not four hundred and nine.
I remember hearing people tell me "I'm so sorry" and "Is there anything you need?" so many times that I wanted to punch someone and then hide under my bed and never come out. Why where they sorry? It wasn't their fault. After all, I felt like the fault was mine. And yes, there was something I needed. I needed my sister back. I needed the weird unfamiliar feeling to go away. I needed them to leave me alone and let me grieve with my family for five minutes before another knock would come on the door.
I don't mean to say that I didn't appreciate the love and kindness and service we received during that time - I'll never forget it. Now it means more to me than just about anything else, but at the time I just didn't want to see people. There was one person, however, that didn't make me want to scream in frustration when I saw her face.
I was back in my room, trying to hide from the people I didn't even know. So many people were showing up and I just wanted to get away from it all. That's when the knock came on my bedroom door. My best friend Mindy had showed up. I met her at the front door where she looked at me and nodded. We both didn't want to talk in front of all the scary adults we'd never met. We walked back to my room and she said, with tears screaming to be released from her eyes, "I keep telling myself not to cry, that I need to be brave." I broke down and cried for the billionth time that day. But this time, it felt better. Someone was there for me, trying to be brave, but she understood how hard it was for me and wasn't afraid to sit on my bed with me and just let it all out. I don't know what was going on through her head at this time. I don't know how hard it was for her to come over. But I do know that it helped me more than anything.
It may sound lame or small or completely insignificant, but I'll never forget how much of a difference it can make to just let your emotions out with someone to be perfectly honest and just cry.
Thanks again, Mindy, for being there with me, helping me stay strong, and reminding me that I know it isn't over, that I will see her again. The important thing to remember is there is always someone who understands every little thing we will ever feel. All we have to do is turn to him and he'll be there to comfort us.
