For Sale - Self Pity

There was a temptation to write this piece first. I was also tempted to save it for much later. I was NEVER tempted not to write it; only concerned that I would not do it justice. I truly consider this one of the defining moments of my life. I hope I treat it as such.

I doubt there are many days in our lives when we don't have the opportunity to learn important lessons. I was always fascinated that in spite of working for the same company for nearly 40 years, I not only found something new on a regular basis...I learned something basic. How can you do related things for that long and still not grasp the fundamentals? I guess it's because there is so much to learn about anything. And especially about life and how to live it.

One of the psychological games that was played in the workplace during my working years was attempting to corner the market on sympathy. There was a big market for sympathy but it was a hard sell.

In passing a co-worker in the hallway, the usual greeting was, "How's it going?" It wasn't really a greeting. It was a way to begin a competition. And the two competitors, previously referred to as co-workers, would launch into the exchange of vivid stories about how badly their day was going, who was ruining it, what the pains being experienced were, and how it was totally impossible that anyone could be having a day that even approached the agony they were unjustly experiencing. Without fear of boasting, let me be very clear. I was GOOD at it. I could bring tears to your eyes even when your plan was to have no sympathy for anyone other than yourself. And the scary part was that, for the most part, I believed it.

That was twenty-three years ago.

My daily practice at that time was to pass by my Mother's house on the drive home from work. She lived only three blocks from me and was living alone since the death of my father about a year earlier. At my insistence, she usually kept the front door locked because her mobility kept her from rapidly answering visitor knocks and I didn't want people to have the option of just letting themselves in and surprising her.

It had been a tough day. One of the toughest I could remember. My mind kept racing as I drove about the events of the day and how difficult it had been. I reached my mother's door and let myself in with my key. She was standing across the room.

She trembled a little as she stood there using a wheelchair as a walker. What little hair she had after all of the chemotheraphy treatments from her two bouts with lymphomia were covered by a babushka. Her complexion was more golden than pink because of jaundicing. Her plastic cosmetic braces on both of her lower legs were visible and made walking, while difficult, possible despite her bouts with a form of muscular dystrophy called Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease. And this was the way she led everyday. Confined inside a small house with movement between rooms constituting a major project. Constantly having to deal with the effect of medications. And still missing her husband and my father.

I looked and her and asked, "How are you today?", and she returned the look with a smile.
"Very well, thank you".

What a jerk! Here I was with a life filled with blessings and recognizing none of them. And here she was with more challenges in her day than I had experienced in my life (added together) and being defeated by NONE OF THEM! A man standing six feet six inches never felt so small.

I never competed in that hallway game again. Instead, when posed with the "How's it going?" question, I would respond, "Very well, thank you" or "Darn near perfect". Thanks, Mom. You got it right again!

And that's how I'll always remember it.