Day (Week?) of Compassion

Being conscious of compassion is hard work. It is especially hard if I am thinking of being compassionate to myself. I focused on two acts of compassion during my day: my fellow companions on the Pullman to Moscow bike trail and myself. 

I decided to start waving a greeting to bikers, walkers, and joggers that I passed on the bike trail. I do this at home on my five mile trip into town each day. I wave to everyone. It makes me feel better to wave because I think that I am making a little connection with someone. There is no way that it replaces a firm handshake, friendly smile, or warm verbal greeting, but it is better than the reflection of a cloud on the windshield. 

When Kevin and I rode the bike trail at the beginning of the summer she did a little informal research and determined that mountain bikers were friendlier than road bikers. Maybe they are more compassionate. I decided to expand my waving community to the bike trail. I have noticed that in a short period of time more people seem to be waving. Possibly they have engaged with me and maybe they are even passing it on to others. It got me thinking about mindfulness in the classroom. Not everyone benefits from it, but some do and that makes it a valid and useful exercise. Maybe not everyone will appreciate and enjoy a friendly wave from a sweaty guy on a bike, but I think a few do. My purpose was not to influence people. I just feel a joy that connection to other human beings brings.

A note of caution: the following story could bring you down emotionally. And it might make you think less of me. Stop here if either of those bother you.

I do not want you to feel sorry for me (too much). I decided to show compassion to myself this week by sharing the story of my struggle to show compassion for my mother. She decided to prepare herself to commit suicide this week. She is despondent over the fact that she is divorced (after 50 years) and my dad is happily moving on. She can’t bring herself to do the same. She struggles with depression, but won’t seek real help. Medicine will solve all. A phone call I made on Sunday left me feeling uneasy because she sounded unhappy and she was really mad at my dad. I listened and tried to cheer her up, but she was having none of it. My brother called the next day and said that he had visited her and found suicide letters that she had begun. 

I wasn’t exactly sure how to feel or how I was supposed to feel. Upon further reflection, my mother’s behaviors made me feel very angry, selfish for feeling angry which made me angrier, and guilty because I didn't feel compassionate which, of course, made me even angrier. I felt that she was being selfish about taking her own life. 

As a typical male, my first instinct was to try to fix the problem. On the phone with her I thought I should tell her to see a psychiatrist. I didn’t though.  Later, she did bring up making an appointment with her psychiatrist and I expressed that it would be good to talk it over with someone who could help. She said that talking wouldn’t help, and that she only wanted to refill her sleeping pill prescription. The irony! I had to laugh to myself. 

I decided to make a point of calling her every day just to check in and see how things were going. I thought that would show compassion. After two days she was wondering why I was calling so frequently. I guess my brother and sister were doing the same. She made the sarcastic comment that she must now be part of the family. That was on day three. Enough compassion (I only had to do 24 hours, right?). I stopped my daily calls. I couldn’t take the emotional toll on top of all the other stresses I’m under. Well, it is now Sunday and I am procrastinating making another call to mom.