She was sitting diagonal to me, and I had a clear and direct view of what was going on, and I couldn’t look away.
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We were aboard the train traveling from Rome to the beach, a pleasant ride lasting a little over an hour. The seats were situated in quads with two seats facing two other seats. Within my line of vision was the perfect view of a woman in the next quad down and across the aisle. She was a lovely young woman who seemed to be in her late 20’s and dressed nicely. That wasn’t the reason I couldn’t look away.
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I couldn’t look away because something was troubling to my heart. She was outwardly weeping. Not silent tears rolling down her cheeks, not just a sniffle here and there, streams of grief flowed as we rolled down the tracks to our destination. Total weeping, audible crying. I peered at her and wondered what in the world could be going on to cause such heartbreak. Had someone that she loved died? Did she just break up with her boyfriend? Did she just find out that she didn’t get the job she had worked so hard for? The tears did not stop. Kilometer after kilometer, the tears poured freely as she tried to use her shirt sleeve to wipe at the tears and runny nose. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t entirely and utterly uncomfortable with this woman’s distress and looked out the window, looked at the floor, the ceiling, rummaged through my bag. Did they have free wi-fi on this train?
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Her sleeve became useless after a while; it was soaking wet. Why didn’t the people sitting around her ask what was going on and if she was ok? They at least speak a common language. Someone should do something. Maybe everyone else was pretending, just like I was. Pretending that they weren’t positively uncomfortable with the obvious suffering of our companion. Maybe it is just a cultural thing – don’t get into people’s business. Then my eyes came back to her. I was compelled to gaze at her and feel the hopelessness. Where was she going? How many more stops until she was going to get off? What was she leaving behind? What was she going toward and arriving at? Something felt so, so wrong, but my inability to speak Italian kept me from doing what I yearned to do – find out what was wrong and encircle her in a hug. Tell her that things were going to work out, somehow. I couldn’t tell her that I was so sorry for the pain she was experiencing. That I saw her – she wasn’t invisible – her sadness was not invisible – she was not alone. Her shirt sleeve and hem were soggy and used, but there was no letting up in the downpour of emotion.
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Back to studying the countryside out the window. Aged barns, quaint towns on the hillside with a church prominently situated right in the middle. Cows, gardens…the tears. I’m glad it’s not me; I’d be so embarrassed. It’s not my business, she’ll be fine. But what if she’s not going to be fine?!? What if everything is falling apart? What if she has lost all hope? This situation could have wholeheartedly been me! It has been me and, most likely, will be me once more! Again, I could not look away.
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I had the urge to look, to sincerely see her – to recognize her brokenness and not look past it – to learn to be comfortable within the uncomfortable emotion and the messiness. I remembered a small package of tissues I had in my backpack. It is still had a few left in it. What if I need them at some point? We were traveling all over the place, and it wasn’t simple to purchase these small packages I had brought with me from the States. We have runny noses and tears – six runny noses and more than our share of tears. I also didn’t want to bring attention to her plight either or cause a scene. But these kleenexes were meant for her. I fished them out of my bag and went over to her seat.
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“Do you speak English?” No – she shook her head. So why did I continue in English? I have no idea, but I did instinctively. Italians did this to me all the time – speak to me in Italian even though I had no idea what they were saying. Maybe because there is somehow the hope that in the expression of the words, the emotion and message will overcome any language barrier. And so I continued.
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“These are for you. I hope you’re going to be ok.”
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I went back to my seat. She continued crying and used the gifted second-hand tissues. I looked out the window, freed from my drive to gawk at her. My heart and breath eased. Italian farms and villages passed quickly and with greater peace. We were nearing our stop, and I stood and told Brian that he HAD to talk to that woman. Tell her that she’s not alone, and I’m praying for her. Brian relayed the message.
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“Grazie.”
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There have been angels in my life who were most likely extremely uncomfortable with my mess – my tears – me. Perhaps even in my muddle of anguish, they wanted to look away. They had good reasons to look away. And perhaps even in that wanting to look away, they were compelled to look – to love – to listen even if they couldn’t fix it – even if there were no easy answers. Maybe they could not look away.
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“Grazie.”
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We might want to look away – look the other way – look anyway where we don’t have to experience the discomfort of empathy – of wanting to do something but feeling extremely inadequate and having very little to offer. The challenge is to truly see the person, lean in, meet the needs. Allowing ourselves to be compelled to notice and understand and sustain and succor and reassure and strengthen. Let’s get comfortable with the discomfort of someone else’s distress. Second-hand tissues may be the only kindness you have to offer and exactly what is needed.
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“Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not: behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompence; he will come and save you.” {Isaiah 35:3-4}
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