COMPASSION

Reflecting on compassion catapults me back in time to thirty years ago, when I faced the most tragic event in my life; the death of my beloved father.  My reaction to the compassionate acts offered to me at the time, over the years, and now has changed. This causes me to contemplate exactly what compassion entails, and how it is both given and received.

I was young, only 30 years old, when my dad gave his farewell speech at his surprise 60^th birthday party. Three days later, just after I discovered I was pregnant with my first child, Daddy went home to heaven. The afternoon of his wake, I arrived early feeling tense, exhausted, and overwhelmed when I entered the funeral home to see my dad lying in the casket. To my shock the first guest to arrive besides family was my close friend, Philisa, rushing in as if she hoped to stop by before the event started.  But I caught her as she arrived sporting shorts and a t-shirt, thrusting a giant pan of lasagna at me, and saying, “I’m so sorry about your dad. I made your favorite and now I’m off to the lake for Labor Day weekend.” Before I could react, she thrust a handwritten note on a wad of notebook paper, and said, “And this is a note for your mom explaining why my parents can’t be here because they are going to the lake for the Labor Day weekend too.” My initial thought was to bash her over the head with the lasagna pan and rip the note to shreds and throw it at her. But instead, I grabbed the giant lasagna pan, and the note, holding back giggles since the note reminded of the handwritten absence excuses parents sent to me at school, and mumbled, “Thank you.” She charged out the door waving goodbye leaving me there standing in confusion and hurt. It hurt so bad, but there was no time, because a throng of people came through the door at me, each offering words of condolence that hit me like a brick each time. Nothing they said could take away the pain. I stood stooped over holding back tears and mumbling, “thanks”. Later, that night I reported to my family how awful I judged Philisa’s act, and even felt resentment towards her on and off for a few years.

Just moments into the event, my other close friend, Marti, came in like a whirlwind, in direct contrast to Philisa, she strode in gently, silently, offered me a hug without words, then stood my side and whispered in my ear, “I’m here to stand by your side, I’m here for you. I won’t leave until you ask.”  To me, this selfless act of compassion meant the world to me then, as well as throughout the years, and still today. It was exactly what I needed. She said almost nothing, never leaving my side, offering me a tissue and a place to lean against when I needed it. She stayed there all afternoon and returned for the wake later that evening and even the next day. This sacrifice of her time was a huge deal, because as a lawyer used to working 70 plus hours a day,  she left that all for me. Most importantly, the need to lean on someone I loved and trusted, who knew that there were no words to make it better, is something I will never forget.

When I read about this project proposal through my writing group, I shared my first draft, where I compared and judged the compassion given me. During this feedback discussion, it was pointed out that the way my first friend, Philisa responded, was most likely influenced by the way she was raised. If her parents thought it was okay to send a note reminiscent of a school absence excuse, then it was okay in her mind to show up hurriedly to drop off a lasagna and exit. Another person reminded me that Philisa gave me a useful gift that she knew I liked, my favorite lasagna. Furthermore, lasagna is a time-consuming project. I started to feel bad about how harshly I negatively judged Philisa, how angry I felt at the time, and how I held a resentment for awhile about it. This led into a discussion of self-compassion. I accept that I was so wrought with mourning over my dad, I just couldn’t respond positively at the time, to what she considered an act of compassion. But I can forgive her, and understand that to her, this was an act of compassion.

Over the years, I have tried to live by the example of the compassion that Marti displayed at my most sorrowful event. When I think of that time and discuss with others who have gone through mourning, it appears people do respond better to a quieter response, to standing alongside with fewer words, just giving of one’s time. But the lesson I learned during this reflection is to remember to take the time to provide a compassionate act to someone who appears to need it.  It may not be perfectly executed or exactly what that person thought he or she needed or wanted, but I make my best attempt at a compassionate act, rather than wait and do nothing. And rather than judge, rate, or compare the compassion provided to me by others, is to accept that compassionate act and to be grateful that someone took the time and made the attempt as best as he or she were able.

A little about Dawn:

Dawn Bartlett is an aspiring author whose loved stories since she was a
young child. Dawn’s parents shared stories, read aloud books and songs with her even when in her mother’s womb. This love of language and learning has led her to a career in the field of special education where she has worked with
students aged from birth to adult with special needs, always focusing on the
joys of language throughout her career. As a child, Dawn was extremely shy, but was discovered to be the opposite during a ballet recital when she didn’t want to leave the spotlight on stage, curtsying and blowing kisses as the audience cheered. Her mother enrolled her in drama class, and she spent many years of her youth performing in community and school musicals and plays. As a young wife and mother, Dawn took a break from theater to raise her 2 daughters who thrived on the books she read to them, the songs she sang, and the family stories she told. Eventually, when the children were a little older, she became involved in a local storytelling group to which she has been involved as a performing member for the past 20 years. She tells a variety of tales, but her favorite tales are family and personal stories, and many of her fellow tellers encourage her to write and publish these stories. It is with the encouragement of this group, and even more so Writer’s Church, a local Christian writing group, that she is working on several writing projects and hopes to publish a children’s book based on her personal  stories.

Submissions for the next Voices Project topic – Inspiration – are due by
August 1, 2023. We hope you will consider submitting your work to us at thevoicesproject2023@gmail.com
.