Trump That!
By Susan Law Corpany

Anyone who reads much of my writing soon discovers that I have a few favorite topics, one of them being “cliché-busting.”  Just as we recycle the same ideas for Enrichment Meetings, we all tend to say the same lame non-comforting things to those in need.  Today’s column, however, is a reminder that a greater pain or challenge does not give us license to be insensitive to the lesser problems of others.

The Parable of the Puppy

Every morning my little cocker spaniel puppy, Corky, would stand by the sliding glass door and whimper, letting me know that she needed to go out.  I would get up, throw on some clothes and slide open the door.  If I did not get up quickly enough, her whimper would escalate to a whine, and shortly after that it would become an insistent howl. 

One morning she had proceeded rather quickly to the howl stage.  I quickly hurried to the stairs, knowing that after “howl” came “mop up the floor.”  Then something interesting happened.  From nearby came the sound of a fire engine siren.  Corky cocked her head to one side, and listened to the shrill noise.  Immediately her howl subsided.  I imagined her thinking, “Wow!  Somebody out there has to go worse than I do.”  After a few seconds, she began again to whimper softly, a gentler reminder that she still needed to go out and take care of business.

True my little puppy had decided that there was someone out there with a bigger reason to sound off, but it didn’t change the fact that she still needed to go out.  While she may have gotten perspective from the realization that there were apparently bigger needs than hers out there, it did not change the fact that she still had something to whimper about, that her needs still warranted attention. 

With shame and embarrassment I became aware, a couple of years after losing my husband, of the times that I had been insensitive to the struggles of those around me.  Of course, there had been an expectation of an immediate blocking out of everything and everyone while I dealt with the expediencies, but after that I had this big trial that I could pull out dwarfing whatever was going on with most people. 

Remember the scene in Crocodile Dundee where a New York thug pulled a knife on him?  He stood coolly appraising the situation, and then he pulled out the knife-to-end-all-knives.  “You call that a knife?” 

Sometimes instead of lending a listening ear or a helping hand, we pull out the trump card of our big problem and lay it on the table, face up for all to see.  They may have a handful of lesser challenges, face down on the table, but we have won the round!

The time I remember best was when my mother was upset because another person had taken credit for the pancakes she had made for a family reunion breakfast. She had bought the ingredients and slaved over the hot griddle, but the person who delivered the pancakes took all the credit while she remained invisible inside a hot kitchen. 

Sure, in the overall scheme of things, it would soon be forgotten, but at that moment, she needed someone to sympathize with her and remind her that a few people knew who had done all the work.  She needed me to tell her how good the pancakes had tasted and that she was appreciated.  Instead I said, “At least your husband is alive!”  There!  I won!  A dead husband beats out pancake problems every time.  Sure enough, my mother didn’t say another word about the pancakes.

I also remember times I would be in a group of women complaining about their husbands, usually about minor things that women often vent to each other.  I often said something like, “I miss even the things I didn’t like about Paul.”  It was true, but a lot depended on the way I said it.  If it came across as judgmental, as I’m afraid it often did, the conversation just kind of dried up.  Women learned that to be my friend was to give sympathy but not to expect any back.  Other times I may have said it more gently, acknowledging that though things were not perfect, they could be worse. 

I realize now, though, there were many times I might have been sensitive to the trials others were going through, and I was not.  My husband’s death did not mean that my friends did not struggle in their marriages or have challenges with their children.  When people share their difficulties, they are whimpering softly, asking for a listening ear, possibly a suggestion or maybe just an acknowledgment of their challenge and encouragement to carry on.  Like my puppy, they just need a little help and they will take care of the rest. 

In a column I recently wrote, I talked about how I have used my trials to be more sensitive to the problems of others.  While I hope that is true now, in the year or two following my greatest loss, I regret that it was otherwise.  For the pioneers, yes, there was a difference between burying a loved one on the prairie or having a broken wheel on the wagon, but a broken wheel was a problem that needed to be addressed and dealt with, too — not dismissed. 

Because you have lost a child, does not mean that someone else does not agonize over their living child’s choices.  Because your house burned down does not mean someone else does not struggle to meet their mortgage payment due to an unexpected downturn in finances.  If your car has been totaled does not mean that someone else does not agonize over the first minor dent in a brand new car. 

If we are sensitive to the needs of others and not wrapped up in our own pain, we can give them both perspective and help.  A young mother with several children in tow, at the end of her rope, does not need the judgment of a childless sister leveled at her as she complains about not having had a moment’s privacy in weeks.  Imagine the following statement said in a harsh, judgmental way.  “I would give anything to have even one child!”  (If you catch the young mother on the right day, she may give you one.) 

Sure, this will likely shame her into silence, but it doesn’t diminish her challenge and only heaps guilt on top of the already-growing pile.

Now imagine the same statement said softly.  “I would give anything to have even one child.”  Then followed by, “But because I am childless, I have no idea what it is like to handle three little ones.  Here, let me hold the baby for a few minutes and give him a bottle while you quiet down the other two.” 

Long since shorted on my supply of babies, I learned the art of “baby borrowing.”  For an overburdened sister-in-law a day to clean her house without the “anti-cleaners” underfoot was a blessing.  Likewise, a day in the park with the nieces and nephews was a good time for me, not to mention the ego boost of that playground being forever after known as the “Aunt Susan Park.”