Compassion in Vanilla

When Jenson passed away, a piece of me died too (a literal piece of me and my husband Doug).  Nothing can describe the crushing pain of grief.  The rush of devastating emotion triggered a shut down of logical reason.  And something I had never experienced before - the inability to function.

I could no longer do simple things I used to take for granted.  Things like getting out of bed became a huge accomplishment.  It was easier to hole up and lock myself inside.  I wasn't ready for the outside world.

About a month after Jenson passed, I decided to put on a brave face and venture out to Target.  I had one item on my list:  vanilla hand-soap.  The easiest of normal errands until... it wasn't. 

There was no vanilla hand-soap in the aisle.  I stood paralyzed unable to make a decision.  Literally paralyzed.

I had always been very decisive, yet here I stood in the hand-soap aisle of Target stumped.  I stared at the shelf for over 15 minutes.  I scanned the other hand-soap options over and over.  But I couldn't decide what to do.  And then a horrifying thought hit me:  Who is this woman who can't buy hand-soap?  Is this who I've become for the rest of my life?

It was a humbling experience.  Grief can strip away everything you know.  It can paralyze you in ways you never dreamed.

I finally decided to look for vanilla hand-soap in other areas of the store.  After over 30 minutes of searching the store for vanilla hand-soap (and with two bottles of red nail polish added to my basket), I finally went back to the hand-soap aisle.  I forced myself to make a decision.  Milk and honey hand-soap would have to work.  I left stressed out and needing a nap.

I temporarily banned myself from running errands (for obvious reasons).  I described my experience to several friends who listened and reassured me this state was temporary.  We laughed together about my new struggle.  A few days later, one of them sent a case of vanilla hand-soap to my house.

Over time, my ability to make simple purchase decisions has returned.  But this humbling experience gave me something I will forever treasure - greater compassion. 

You never know what someone is going through until you've walked in their shoes.  Out of compassion, extend grace to yourself and others. 

Kristin