It's become a common mistake, an accepted usage, to say that you
empathize with whomever. In fact, more likely than not, you actually
just sympathize. When you sympathize you are imagining what they might
be feeling, and that imaginary feeling is used to gain an
understanding of the mental and spiritual space the other person
occupies. Sympathy is one of the best things we can express for each
other. It is the intentional effort to share something that cannot be
shared. It is an effort towards familial feeling.
Empathy, on the other hand, is actually feeling what the other person
feels. It is almost impossible. If you could do it, you would be A.)
miserable and B.) some sort of super-powered being. In order for me to
feel what you feel, I have to be the same as you. I have to be
literally able to experience what you experience. Sure, there might be
similarities occasionally, but not often. Everyone feels differently
because they are from different places and have different frames of
reference. It's hard to even sympathize, if you really think about it.
A one day old Afghan baby died in our hospital yesterday. When I came
on shift I saw that the baby was in the Emergency Department and I
tried, I willed myself not to know much more. The Sergeant that I
relieved told me that it was likely that the baby would not make it. I
willed myself not to know that. I tried really, really hard. I knew,
somehow, somewhere inside, that if I acknowledged it, if I let myself
know that there was a one day old boy in the hospital that I would
then HAVE to go and see him. And if I saw him I would be tortured and
I would torture myself and it would ache and I would be useless for a
couple of days.
After a couple of hours, they came and told us that the baby had died.
I did my job and marked down the time of death and the recording
physician and then I stopped my brain up. I wouldn't think or feel it.
I insisted in my mind. And I was successful. I have done a few things
in my life that required, for ease of living, comfort and even for
completion, not to think about them. I have a process, a mental
process wherein I put the things into a tupperware container on the
inside of my mind, I seal the idea and I put it in a stack. Then I
don't open it. It works. I know it sounds crazy, but it mostly works.
(I credit the idea to James Ellroy. In his book American Tabloid he
talks a lot about compartmentalization. That's how I think of that
process.)
I made it through the whole night. When I was doing my turnover with
the on-coming watch I told her that the baby had died. She nodded,
also sad. The guy who works nights with me said, "One less fucking
terrorist."
I thought of several responses. "You mean, '...one fewer.'"
"Why don't you shut the hell up?!"
"Wow, you're a heartless son of a bitch."
I didn't say any of those. I just shut it out.
Then, an hour or so later I was sitting in my rack and I could feel
the tupperware box opening up. I struggled with it for a while, but I
just had to let it go. I sat on my rack and felt really, really sad.
Not crying, not weepy, just sad. And I realized, I could find sympathy
for the family of the little boy, but even with an 18 hour difference
in life-span between my son and theirs I couldn't feel what they felt.
I can't imagine what they feel. I want to talk to them, sort of, to
tell them that I am so sympathetic. That I have a similar
circumstance. That I know what it is like to believe so strongly that
your son is coming, to feel him in your heart, and then to lose him. I
know that feeling, but I only know how I felt. I am sympathetic,
because I can strive to imagine their feelings, and I can use my own
feelings to help me imagine, but I can't empathize. Their grief is
their own.
And I don't want you to feel like I am harping on my son's passing, or
continually returning to it, as a source of public immolation and,
indeed, sympathy seeking behavior. I bring it up because I can't help
but feel like he is part of this experience. He is part of how I made
the decision to come out here. He is part of who I am and part of how
I see things. And I bring him up today because I feel his passing
strongly, in the wake of another boy who didn't get to be a man. In
the wake of another boy who didn't get to grow up, who didn't get to
see the world and have observations about it. And I know that it is
wildly unlikely that my boy and this boy, whom I stalwartly would not
see today, will ever meet up, wherever they are. But I'd like to think
that if they did, they'd be able to find something in common. They'd
feel a level of camaraderie, something beyond seeing each other as
terrorists or oppressors. Maybe they'd just see each other as fellows,
and maybe they could find a way to imagine life from the point of view
of the other. A little sympathy goes a long way.
For more of the Afghan Updates, or any I failed to send you, please visit:
http://dustintheeverything.blogspot.com/?zx=ee6fac97810abcfc
No comments:
Post a Comment