"I think we are okay." She responded as I asked what she needed. (*She had lost her babe at 16 weeks along, and now one of her children were hospitalized with a childhood illness).
Sometimes, it's hard to admit we have needs. Our world expects us to be so self-sufficient and strong. This one was no exception.
I went home and chatted with my husband. Her husband was juggling her other three kids and work as well as making trips back and forth to the hospital and managing his own fears and grief.
It was fall, the leaves had all disappeared their previous branches, and the first frost was quick approaching.
So we did something unconventional - we packed up our four boys and our rakes and headed over to their house. They had been so busy, the lawn had long been neglected in lieu of more important family matters - we pulled our our rakes and spent the next few hours removing the colorful debris until they could visualize their lawn again. We cooked a meal, wrote a note, and left a gift.
Compassion is a verb, and compassion acts even when the recipient cannot verbalize the need.
They were ever so grateful!
. . . .
After my loss, I experienced compassion in this way as well as a friend came over and said, "I'm here to clean. What needs done?" She cleaned my toilets and vacuumed the nursery that I couldn't enter because my grief was so great!
. . . .
Sometimes compassion is seeing. Knowing. Validating. Offering Presence.
But true compassion sees the needs that are there and takes action.
Do they need meals?
Childcare for other children so they can process?
A gift to signify their baby's existence?
Some general housework so they can recover from a procedure?
A care package with self-care items - lotion, Kleenex, chocolate, a soft blanket or bear, etc.?
Compassion can take almost any form. Any need met is a way to say I see you, and I care.
Compassion is a verb.
Offer yourself.
Offer your service.
Offer your love!
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