ManicDDaily

More Giotto, Scrovegni Chapel, Detail of Lamentation

It’s hard to visit someone who is very ill.  An instinctive fear arises.  You know that the visit will engender pain–pain for the current loss, pain for past losses, pain for future losses.   The thought of pain alone brings fear; the confrontation of mortality holds additional terror.

There’s almost an animalistic fear that arises–a fear of participating in the pain that the ill person is suffering, a fear (almost) of empathy.

Then too, there are the unanimalistic, highly socialized, almost opposite, fears – a fear that you won’t feel pain, or enough pain; that you won’t react properly; that you are not close enough, that you just don’t belong.

I visited a very sick friend this evening and was a little shocked at the level of fear that overtook me on my way.  Part of what steeled me to go on was simply duty –  past promises to be supportive.  But what finally pushed me into the building was the understanding of how trivial my fears were compared to what my friend was going through; the understanding that I could only help her get through her illness and the fear of what seems sure to come next by rising above my own fear of those things.  Of course, my help would be minor in the greater context, but surely I could do that much.

All this was on the way.  When you are actually in the presence of a very sick friend or family member, the fear part of the equation largely subsides, at least the self-centered parts of those  fears.  That’s your friend there, still there, still your friend.  You are fearful then for their pain, not your own; and while it may be difficult to say things to them, their hearing uncertain, you feel as if you can think things; at least you do think things, your mind suddenly like a calming palm.  It doesn’t make sense, but still brings a kind of relief, even in sorrow.