The Sadness that Defies Depression

As I look out the window from where we spend most of our days, out towards our Emerson Street neighborhood, I notice our neighbor’s car missing from the driveway across the street. The car should be there this time of day, but now disappears every morning, returning again every mid afternoon. The reason why I see no car makes me sad.

Though we do not get out during the winter, townsfolk drop in on a regular basis. I hear about what is happening in our neighborhood and town. Some of what I hear is sad, maybe not as sad as some of the tragedies in the world outside our bucolic area, but sadder than what I feel about my own situation. In particular I feel sad for people who are depressed. I know the bad things depression does to brain health; I know the bad things being treated with antidepressants does to brain health as well.

One of the songs I performed for my captive audience of one, before staring out the window, was “Pack up Your Sorrows.” The chorus goes “If somehow you could pack up your sorrows and give them all to me, you would lose them, I know how to use them, give them all to me.” That is how I feel as I stare out the window, wishing I could absorb enough sorrows to prevent depression in others.

I previously blogged about how I feel sadder for my daughters than I do for myself. I blogged about how I feel sadder for Cindy’s siblings. I even blogged about how I feel sadder for the cats! I am discovering my sadness for others helps me to defy depression. You cannot be depressed if you are focused on taking away the pain of others.

I usually do not feel sad for Cindy either. Angry at times, but sad not so much. She does not appear to be going through emotional pain as her life winds down. Instead, the evidence suggests she still can experience and enjoy the hugs she gets. She still enjoys visitors during the few fleeting moments she notices them. Many people wind down their lives getting no hugs at all; many people do not have visitors. I feel good about the love provided for Cindy by myself and others.

I know this will be the last time I stare out the window while performing for Cindy. Big changes are happening, brought on by the recent seizure and the advent of warm weather. We are moving downstairs to facilitate getting Cindy outside for one more summer. I doubt there will be another, though I have been anticipating Cindy’s imminent passing for about three years now. There may not be another winter either, in which case our living room will become Cindy’s final bedroom.

I divert my eyes from the window to Cindy. Feeling sadness for others may be a tonic for depression, but actually doing something for them in the present moment is even better. I get Cindy up to dance, a more difficult challenge since the seizure. She sometimes crosses her feet and cannot stand. If the right placement happens by accident we are good to go. Otherwise I must support the full weight of her body with one arm while I maneuver at least one of her legs with the other. If I take too long at this her body goes limp and I must start all over or give up entirely.

This time we are fortunate, Cindy stands with our first try, my arms providing full support. I have Motown playing on Pandora and we dance. Sometimes when we dance now I struggle to hold back tears at the plight of a once vibrant woman. My vulnerability lasts only a moment, until I hear a barely audible sigh from Cindy. I interpret this as a good thing. For the next few moments we experience a bliss that many never achieve in a typical day.

Yet I certainly would not describe our situation as joyous, particularly after the seizure and the anticipated move downstairs. I stare out the window again as we dance, thinking about the emotional pain some friends and neighbors are going through. If only they could pack up their sorrows for me. Strange that I should think this while fighting back my own tears, but I know why now. Sadness for others, taking care of Cindy in the present moment, feeling occasional bliss in our hugs, these are the ways I prepare for the big changes ahead.