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Copyright © 2010 Andrea Langworthy
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“Everybody’s got something,” is a catch phrase I’ve used often. Sometimes, when a well-meaning person offers sympathy because I use a cane, I shrug my shoulders as if to say it’s no big deal and express my feeling that everyone deals with something. How true that’s been lately. It seems every time my husband or I talk with someone, they or one near and dear to them has “something.” Three friends are undergoing chemotherapy, radiation, or both for different types of cancer. Another is recovering from surgery after his wife gave him the ultimate gift: a kidney. A chum has marital problems and another deals with a job loss.
Some of us have outward clues — a cane, wheelchair, guide dog — that lets people know what our “something” is. Just as others lose their hair to chemo or pull along an oxygen tank everywhere they go. But many pass by us without a sign that their world has changed in a way they never imagined. Such as the friend I tried to reach last month at her office. A co-worker said she was out of state. Had traveled south to visit her (healthy) mother and while there, her mom passed away. Later, I empathized with what she was going through and told her that losing my mother 11 years ago had been just plain icky. My friend wondered how she would get through Christmas. Something I feel every year as I decorate the tree with the many ornaments my mother gave me.
A long-time friend and former co-worker lost his wife, his best friend, when she passed away in October. The two never missed a chance to watch the Vikings on television. Earlier in the season, when she was home with hospice care, his love was able to give a “thumb’s up” when her hubby asked if the Vikes would win that day. Brett Favre may get the credit, but if anyone can guide the team to the Super Bowl, it will be heaven’s new angel, Pat. A bittersweet accomplishment for our friend, though, who won’t be able to share the occasion with his bride of 38 years.
Often, as I slowly make my way through a store, someone stares at me with pity. The same look I received from a woman as I finished eating a meal at a restaurant one day. She approached to ask if she could pray for me. I was taken aback. Why not say a prayer for everyone in the restaurant? I thought at the time. After all, everybody’s got something. Walking up to strangers, asking if we can pray for them, might not be the best idea but I wonder what would happen if we just gave everyone the gift of a genuine smile. Not the pursed lip “poor you” kind but a big grin that says we’re all connected by our “somethings.” It’s isn’t a kidney but it’s still a nice present. Especially, if they give one back.