You Know Pain When You See It

Readers of Slouching Into Oblivion know that my love, Lorena Alcala, died from complications of leukemia three weeks ago.

I have been a mess. Totally broken. To those who called or emailed and whose calls and emails I have not returned, I ask your patience and forgiveness.

It is hard enough to be in constant pain and even harder when you recognize the impact of your pain on others.

I was in the grocery store a couple of days ago shopping for vegetables. Without warning, I remembered Lorena and I joking at the same spot a few weeks ago. I broke down. Not a few silent tears. I wept uncontrollably. I tried to hide but I wasn’t successful. A woman walked up to me and asked urgently, “Do you need an ambulance?”

In times like this, you are honest, even if you don’t want to be.

“I don’t want an ambulance,” I whispered as I gasped for the next breath. “I want Lorena.”

I saw the distress, the sadness, and the helplessness in her eyes. She didn’t know Lorena, but she knew. She knew. And she put her arm around me and whispered, “I am sorry for your loss. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

I regained composure. “No,” I replied. “But thank you. Thank you so much.” She maintained eye contact as she began walking away.

She knew.

Others leafing through the lettuce made an effort not to see what they saw:

Someone in pain.

Several friends have called as I wrote about here. In some cases, I answered but could not speak. I held the phone away from my face hoping they would not hear me and would write it off to a bad connection. Some took the opportunity to do so.

Others spoke. “Jim, I know you are there. Take your time. When you can talk, let’s talk. I’m not in a hurry.”

Yesterday, I was outside watering Lorena’s plants. She called them her “plantitas.” Suddenly, in my mind, she was there standing next to me smiling as she used to do. I broke down again. I sat on the sidewalk. Tears steaming down my face. A car passed and as I looked up, a child, maybe three or four years old, looked at me through a side window. Her face was a mask of confusion and then sadness as she watched the man who was crying on the sidewalk. She pointed at me and said something to her parents in the front seat as they drove past. They ignored her just as they ignored me.

People sense pain in others. Some feel the pain of loss and reach out. I believe most of those know pain because they have experienced profound sadness, despair, and hopelessness.

Others are uncomfortable in the presence of human pain, avert their gaze, and avoid getting involved. I have done that before.

Never again.

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