Observe

As I watched the 78 year old lady walk out of her room to the chair in the living room with much difficulty. I saw how she struggled with each step, taking in deep breathes all the time, holding tightly to her dear grandchild’s hand. This old lady is fighting liver cancer. No words can comfort this tormented soul. Her skin was yellow from all the toxic waste that can’t be released from her body, her legs were shaking in pain, her breathing short and fast, her face distorted with the pain she’s feeling all at once. As I turned to face my friend, I could see her eyes staring at her grandmother with type of sadness and hopelessness, that I would call it grief.

 I saw through the glass of the isolation ward the face of a close friend filled with boils on the left side of his face as he lifted himself up from his bed to sit up and welcome us. I saw how he struggled to eat and swallow his food, how he couldn't move his lips and flinched a little if he did, how he keep wiping his eye that tears up so much because of the infection. I saw his mother, all teary while talking to me, although his brother told me she’s always teary, they were still tears of a worried mother.

I saw the way my friend looked at me with something different in her eyes that morning and immediate I recognized it, something happened. I found out later that her mother was in the hospital and I remembered what those eyes told me: urgency, worry, distress. But not close enough to grief, because no one died. And I sure hope not.

It’s a season of pain and grief for the people around me, but not for me. I've been through pain and grief before, but for me, it’s a season of watching it happen around me. It’s different, going through it, and observing it. I was never an observant person, but I'm getting better at it, I think.

The expression of a mother, whose son is in the hospital, is the same with the expression of someone around my age whose mother is in the hospital. They look the same. All I see is fear, distress, worry. The expression is the same but on a micro level, there are differences. And I pray that they and the one they unwell will be alright.

The expression of someone around my age with boils all over his face is the same with the expression of an old lady fighting liver cancer. They looked the same in a way that I could see the way they flinch when it hurts, the way their eyes silently question “why is this happening to me?” Pain looks the same but it feels different. When their eyes meet mine, I realize, no words can comfort them. And I’ll just silently pray for the one in pain.

My close friend with boils on his face, he’s getting better.

My friend’s mother, she’s alright now from what I heard.

But the old lady with liver cancer, she passed away yesterday; my condolences to the family.

The thing about pain is everyone can see it, but only you can feel it. All the others can do is sympathize.

The thing about grief is that you have to go through it, stage by stage, no shortcuts. All everyone else can do is comfort, silently, without words.