Pain.  The universal equalizer. I have long known that without it of course there could be no empathy. Not an epiphany of monumental proportions, but one I learned at a very young age, so for me that lesson seemed very profound. I learned that from the ashes of pain and suffering can blossom a gift of understanding, compassion and connection for those with whom you share a common experience.

When I was eleven years old my little brother died of encephalitis.  He was only eight years old and it changed the family I had know for eleven years, forever. My mother and father never recovered to be the people I knew them to be before Mikie died.  Yet in that experience, an empathy grew within my young soul that I would never understand as a gift until I became much older.

We move on from pain, into a life of hope and belief for a better understanding or by sheer determination, to just survive. But unless we choose to end our lives, it does move on and we are forever changed from our painful experiences. This really is the life spring of empathy.

Empathy is a gift of monumental importance as we encounter suffering souls who cannot find a way through their pain without the love and the understanding of someone who has been in their very place once upon a time.  It is a rare time in your life when you can be quiet in the shared experience with someone and it can sometimes be enough for them, just to know you are there.

So since I started my new business of helping families to place their loved ones into senior assisted living facilities or board and care homes, I often find myself in situations that move me from sympathy to empathy as I feel the painful touch of reminders. Experiences shared, like the guilt of having to move parents out of the home where they hoped to live until they die, the passing of a father, or the heartbreak of caring for a mother with Alzheimer’s. Although at times heartbreaking, it has been my pleasure to be the person in the room to listen and help them move forward with compassion and understanding.

It would seem that all the experiences of helping others to make the next step, to help their aging loved one on their journey, would make me a natural to help mine. But the empathy I feel for others seems to dissipate into judgement as I contemplate the next move I am to make for the care of my mother.

After two and one half years of caring for my mother at home, I am now in a positions to have to place her into a memory care facility as a result of her Alzheimer’s. Heartbreaking does not begin to describe the pain of making such a decision after having my mother with me for these last few years.

I now echo the comments of feeling like a failure, guilty and selfish for making the move. Just like the people I help, I am forced by finances and circumstances to make a best decision that feels like no one wins, except a disease that has now robbed me of my mother, still and again.

It makes me angry that I find it difficult to have the empathy for myself I have experienced for others. Judgement seems to be the traveling companion to my empathy whenever it tries to reach out to comfort me. A reasonable mind can bring my thoughts back to the logical conclusion that it is time to move my mother from my home, but my heart still aches in response.

So I have to find comfort in the fact that it is my turn.  My turn to walk the path I so carefully help others to navigate to find a safe place for their loved one to land. My turn to let strangers care for my mother and have faith they will do it much better than I probably do. My turn to transition from caregiver back to daughter again, as I help my mother move into the next steps in her journey. My turn to face the reality that I cannot escape the ravages of her disease, but I can hold her hand, sing her songs, continue to try to keep joy in her life and always be there to remind her that she is loved and not forgotten.

Maybe one day soon it will be my turn to learn the lesson of humility. That you cannot be all things to the people that you love, no matter how hard you try to make it so. Maybe then I can sit quietly, with a little empathy and let judgment pass me by.