Pain, whether emotional or physical in form, has an insidious way of separating us from our support systems, from the core relationships in our lives who give us hope and stability. Like a boat cut away from its moorings, we are apt to drift in our pain, away from the safe harbor of community, away from those who help us bear our burdens, away from a sense of the familiar and normal.
People in pain are not easy to be around, and so our drifting…our isolating…can often be compounded by the reality that some will not want to be around us when we are hurting. Our hurting reminds them that they too hurt, or will hurt…and that’s too much reality for some. But the core relationships in our lives are core precisely because they love us in our pain. They are not afraid of our woundedness, our weakness, our unhappiness, our humanness.
Jen and I spent a lot of days and nights in waiting rooms over the first two years of John-John’s life, waiting to hear news from a doctor or a surgical nurse about the progress or outcome of a surgery or a procedure: “Your son is being prepped right now”, “John Michael’s vitals look good”, “he did just fine”, “we were able to accomplish most of what we’d hoped to do.” The updates were usually very brief, as were the post surgery narratives. Doctors and nurses realize that parents can only take in so much information at times like this, so they keep things very simple.
But waiting for news….often, it felt like days passed before any update would trickle out to the waiting room. And it was during these times that our loved ones would prove invaluable.
During those long days and nights in West Hills/Humana and Cedars-Sinai Hospitals, how did our loved ones most effectively care for us? By being with us. Yes, they did things for us also….cooking us meals, running errands for us, returning phone calls for us, and this was all appreciated. But in the end what mattered most was how they were present to us, particularly in the waiting room.
I think of this when people tell me that they couldn’t visit a friend who was depressed, or who had just suffered a loss, or was struggling with a health issue because they didn't know what to say. Words can be overrated. Showing up, bracketing your anxiety, and being present to one in pain says everything that needs to be said.
I can remember very few words that were spoken to encourage and inspire us during John Michael’s surgeries and recoveries, although many were offered. However, I will never forget snapshots from the waiting room of people being with us: my father reading his newspaper, my sisters and mother drinking coffee, my friend Wendy reading her novel, and my friend Paul praying his rosary. Simple pictures, dozens of them, that comfort me even today. Nothing earth shattering, nothing out of the ordinary; activities that could have been done anywhere in the city, and people wouldn’t have looked twice. But that’s the point. They were doing these common activities while being with us, attuned to us, ready to serve if called upon but not feeling the need to force activity and words on us. It was enough to know they were there; we didn’t need them to do anything else. It was such a personal time, so private and filled with emotion that more would have been less.
Our loved ones were not going to let us drift in our pain. They were not going to allow us to isolate. They kept guard like sentinels, reminding us that we were protected and not alone…we had not been abandoned and forsaken in our hour of great need. They formed the face of God for Jenni and me. Looking back, I see that the waiting room had gently and mystically been transformed into a sanctuary…a safe place for the weary and frightened to rest and find God.
Having others with me in my pain and anxiety didn’t lessen the suffering, but their presence did place my suffering in the larger context of Love, and remind me again that He always provides a harbor in the midst of the storm.
Who in your life needs this gift of presence…your presence? Don’t worry about finding the right words. Your willingness to “suit up and show up” will say enough.
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About Me
- Ross Porter
- Dr. Ross Porter received his B.A. from the University of California, Santa Barbara, and his Master of Divinity (Theology) and Ph.D. (Clinical Psychology) degrees from Fuller Theological Seminary, where he first became interested in the integration of psychology and spirituality. He is a teacher, author, counselor, and consultant, specializing in integrative psychology, virtue ethics and family systems. He has taught at the high school, college, and graduate school levels. Ross is also the Founder and Executive Director of Stillpoint Family Resources, a non-profit organization that offers counseling services to individuals, couples, and families in crisis, with nine different office locations throughout Ventura, Los Angeles and Orange Counties (specific office locations can be found at www.stillpointfamilyresources.org). In 2009, Dr. Porter was named an “Outstanding Angeleno” by the Los Angeles Daily News. Ross and his wife Jennifer have been married for 21 years, and have four beautiful children. John Michael, their son who has Down Syndrome is their first born.
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