Empathy and Resurrection

After changing Cindy and going through her physical therapy I put her “dancing shoes” on and swing her legs out of the bed. Her “dancing shoes” are a pair of sandals with rubber soles gripping the floor. Her sandals are not what you would want for actual dancing, but for Cindy they keep her feet in place and I can balance her weight over them. Even so I must plant each foot in the right spot and smoothly lift and transfer her weight from sitting to standing inside my arms.

Normally Cindy is six inches shorter than I am, but she slouches lower even with my support. Still, we are able to sway gently back and forth, this morning to a playlist called “Morning Acoustic.” My computer screen is blank, allowing us to see our reflections on the screen. I do believe this comforts Cindy further. I am grateful her head is so much lower than mine as we “dance;” I can shield my tears from her.

I keep saying there is a difference between depression and sadness. During Easter I saw a post, unfortunately without the foresight to bookmark the source, relating depression to the threat of resurrection. Depression occurs when someone has little hope for or even fears what may lie ahead; they even fear a resurrection. I assure you that is not me.

My life has been a series of welcoming the unknown; that has not changed. There was a time when I doubted my ability to care for Cindy at home until she passes away, but those doubts are gone. I handle her infrequent seizures now with a level head; I believe I can handle any of the unknown ahead and still maintain my health.

My tears are caused by empathy, sadness for Cindy, though not in the present moment. Cindy appears to be content with her face buried into my chest. In fact, I feel better by focusing on how Cindy must be feeling as we “dance.”

The tears are not even for how Cindy generally feels about her current condition. A few years ago a bout of self-awareness might have caused a tear in Cindy. More recently I see occasional looks of bewilderment, sensing that something is not quite right. Yet all along her affliction carries the blessing of not fully realizing the state of her decline.

No, what most often brings about sadness these days is empathy with the “past” Cindy. While I am doing everything I can to make Cindy’s life enjoyable, even succeeding to some extent, I cannot shake the realization that this is not what Cindy would want for herself. If “past” Cindy could see through my present eyes she would be overwhelmed with grief. Feeling this grief from a “past” Cindy causes my tears.

Ironically, I know that much of her grief would be the concern for how her illness was impacting others. I wish my mind could make “past” Cindy see that this has been no great burden to me. I know what must be done to maintain my health and I have been as conscientious about that as with caring for Cindy.

I am not afraid of any form of resurrection, or the unknown, or what life will be after Cindy. This is the ultimate test for why I know I can be sad but not depressed. As we sway together, cheek to chest, I hope the unknown is not burdening her either.