"First and foremost, we meet as human beings who have much in common: a heart, a face, a voice; the presence of a soul, fears, hope, the ability to trust, the capacity for compassion and understanding, the kinship of being human." - Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel
After the service, I met up with my friends. Tears were still fresh in their eyes. As men, I am convinced they were trying to hide their pain, but everyone knew how influential their grandmother was to them. She was essentially a mother to those boys. The pain they feel was mixed with acceptance, love, joy, and sadness. I say joy because, just like their grandmother, my friends have a connection with the Lord. Their grandmother was in a good place and they felt comfort in that thought. From what I heard, she was where she belonged.
Aren't you just being sympathetic, not empathetic?
It is easy to see how I am sympathetic, which I was, but I also felt a sense of empathy toward them. First, we need to see that there is a difference between sympathy and empathy. Where sympathy is feelings of pity and sorrow of another's misfortune, empathy is a different animal. Empathy is the ability to understand/recognize and share the feelings of another, just like stepping into the other's shoes. Some people often confuse these two words. I get it. Before I figured them out, I used them interchangeably, just like anxious and anxiety (it took me long enough to figure these two out; it was embarrassing). If you want to know more, here is an interesting Empathy Vs Sympathy article I found. It even touches on compassion which is one step further than empathy.
Why do you think you're empathetic?
It was an emotional day for that family. I understood that and felt sympathy. However, I had recently lost my grandfather and had gone through this exact scenario within the past few months. I know the pain they feel. I know how their hearts feel like they are being ripped in two. I get the tears they are shedding. I know that losing my grandfather is not the same to them. While I refuse to compare my grandfather's memorial/funeral with my friend's grandmother, the similarities from the emotion in the air tasted familiar. It was the same as when I shed my tears. It was heavy. It was filled with the emotional tug-of-war of acceptance and the question of why. The day I went to my grandfather's memorial, I cried, a lot, which is unusual for me. Since high school, I somehow managed to shut off the urge to cry and would only do so under extreme circumstances. I simply refused to shed tears. But that day, the tears came. It told me how much I loved my grandfather and how much I missed him. My tears showed others how much I valued my relationship with him. While there was tension at the memorial (as mentioned in a previous post), I can soundly say that, for at least an hour, my family was on the same page. Once it was over, certain people went back to their "holier than thou" ways. I still remember talking to a relative and her telling me "I have been so strong through all this." Sigh. Okay, this is going to sound a little cold but to be honest, those words mean absolutely nothing to me. Who cares how strong you have been? I know you and I know that you are not strong and that you are putting on a mask to make me sympathetic toward you. It was an act. I knew what she was doing. I hated her for it, but my respect for my grandfather tipped my emotional scale enough so I wouldn't open my mouth. That moment in the bathroom I know I will never forget because of what I felt; a mixture of sadness, hatred, anger, pity, loss, regret, a whole list of other emotions that could probably fill this article. The one that sticks out above the rest, respect. Respect for my grandfather. If he had been standing there and I cussed this girl out, what would he have said? What would he have thought of me? Would I have disappointed him? The entire process from his death to his burial was stressful and filled with anger. It is sad if you look at it from the outside. Yet, it was through this experience that I not only sympathized with my friends, I empathized with them by remembering my loss. Stepping into the chapel, my mind went back to my grandfather and his memorial. I remembered how it stung to see the casket. I remembered how i had hoped it was a lie and my grandfather was playing another joke on us. I remembered how the words spoken during the service affected me. I remembered how touched I was to see who came to the service. I could only imagine how my friends were feeling. I would guess that our pain was similar, though vastly different. They have a close, tight-knit family, unlike me, and I envy them for that but it doesn't matter. I envy everyone who has a close, happy family (it is a flaw of mine that I have long since accepted).
Again, I understood none of their words during the speeches this past weekend. I was one of the few white people in that chapel and one of the fewer who couldn't speak another language. The race difference did not bother me. Surprise, I'm used to being a minority. I live in a city where, while white is the dominant race, the group of people I have chosen to associate myself, while it is majority Asian, there is a good mix of people from all over under one roof. Yes, there is a language barrier at times, but we always manage to find a way around it. It was strange at first, but once seeing who these people are, I became comfortable. It was through this group that I met these friends. We all have experienced the language barrier. I know I experience it often with Chinese and it doesn't scare me anymore. While I may joke with my bilingual friends that they could probably get me to agree to anything if they ask me in another language (cause I will smile and nod), at least one thing you should learn by stepping out of your comfort zone is that there is another level to conversation that transcends words. A level that goes past a simple sentence and into the intention, the heart of the speaker. The memorial was a perfect example. I couldn't trust my ears because I couldn't understand, but I could trust my heart if I listened deeper. I had to read past letters and words on the program. Watching the family speak was all I had to do.
Emotion, like golf, is a universal language.
It is amusing how words could mean nothing, but the emotion, the passion behind them conveys the raw emotion within a person's heart. Everyone has the capability to understand this when it comes to another human being. When it came to the memorial, emotion was heavy in the air. You could tell they all wanted to hold her one last time, to tell her that they loved her and that they did not want her to leave yet. It is an unfortunate pain that we all experience at one point in our lives. We all want more time with our loved ones. Death is the only thing that tears us apart. It breaks a piece of our heart and reminds us that it is a natural part of life. We have to accept it, even if we do so resentfully. It is a sensation that transcends words. Transcends what is spoken and escapes as tears or anger or as an action that one cannot explain. Emotion is that powerful. That day, any lack of understanding languages was meaningless. You understood. It didn't matter that we came from different backgrounds. It didn't matter if words were unable to convey the message to those listening. We knew why we were there. We understood what was happening. I still feel sorry for them and I do wish they had a little more time with her. I am glad that I was able to be a part of that memorial. I believe that the grandmother is proud of her legacy because even through the tears and choked sobs, you understood the love and respect they had for their matriarch.
Aren't you just being sympathetic, not empathetic?
It is easy to see how I am sympathetic, which I was, but I also felt a sense of empathy toward them. First, we need to see that there is a difference between sympathy and empathy. Where sympathy is feelings of pity and sorrow of another's misfortune, empathy is a different animal. Empathy is the ability to understand/recognize and share the feelings of another, just like stepping into the other's shoes. Some people often confuse these two words. I get it. Before I figured them out, I used them interchangeably, just like anxious and anxiety (it took me long enough to figure these two out; it was embarrassing). If you want to know more, here is an interesting Empathy Vs Sympathy article I found. It even touches on compassion which is one step further than empathy. "The great gift of human beings is that we have the power of empathy, we can all sense a mysterious connection to one another." - Meryl Streep
Why do you think you're empathetic?
It was an emotional day for that family. I understood that and felt sympathy. However, I had recently lost my grandfather and had gone through this exact scenario within the past few months. I know the pain they feel. I know how their hearts feel like they are being ripped in two. I get the tears they are shedding. I know that losing my grandfather is not the same to them. While I refuse to compare my grandfather's memorial/funeral with my friend's grandmother, the similarities from the emotion in the air tasted familiar. It was the same as when I shed my tears. It was heavy. It was filled with the emotional tug-of-war of acceptance and the question of why. The day I went to my grandfather's memorial, I cried, a lot, which is unusual for me. Since high school, I somehow managed to shut off the urge to cry and would only do so under extreme circumstances. I simply refused to shed tears. But that day, the tears came. It told me how much I loved my grandfather and how much I missed him. My tears showed others how much I valued my relationship with him. While there was tension at the memorial (as mentioned in a previous post), I can soundly say that, for at least an hour, my family was on the same page. Once it was over, certain people went back to their "holier than thou" ways. I still remember talking to a relative and her telling me "I have been so strong through all this." Sigh. Okay, this is going to sound a little cold but to be honest, those words mean absolutely nothing to me. Who cares how strong you have been? I know you and I know that you are not strong and that you are putting on a mask to make me sympathetic toward you. It was an act. I knew what she was doing. I hated her for it, but my respect for my grandfather tipped my emotional scale enough so I wouldn't open my mouth. That moment in the bathroom I know I will never forget because of what I felt; a mixture of sadness, hatred, anger, pity, loss, regret, a whole list of other emotions that could probably fill this article. The one that sticks out above the rest, respect. Respect for my grandfather. If he had been standing there and I cussed this girl out, what would he have said? What would he have thought of me? Would I have disappointed him? The entire process from his death to his burial was stressful and filled with anger. It is sad if you look at it from the outside. Yet, it was through this experience that I not only sympathized with my friends, I empathized with them by remembering my loss. Stepping into the chapel, my mind went back to my grandfather and his memorial. I remembered how it stung to see the casket. I remembered how i had hoped it was a lie and my grandfather was playing another joke on us. I remembered how the words spoken during the service affected me. I remembered how touched I was to see who came to the service. I could only imagine how my friends were feeling. I would guess that our pain was similar, though vastly different. They have a close, tight-knit family, unlike me, and I envy them for that but it doesn't matter. I envy everyone who has a close, happy family (it is a flaw of mine that I have long since accepted).
Again, I understood none of their words during the speeches this past weekend. I was one of the few white people in that chapel and one of the fewer who couldn't speak another language. The race difference did not bother me. Surprise, I'm used to being a minority. I live in a city where, while white is the dominant race, the group of people I have chosen to associate myself, while it is majority Asian, there is a good mix of people from all over under one roof. Yes, there is a language barrier at times, but we always manage to find a way around it. It was strange at first, but once seeing who these people are, I became comfortable. It was through this group that I met these friends. We all have experienced the language barrier. I know I experience it often with Chinese and it doesn't scare me anymore. While I may joke with my bilingual friends that they could probably get me to agree to anything if they ask me in another language (cause I will smile and nod), at least one thing you should learn by stepping out of your comfort zone is that there is another level to conversation that transcends words. A level that goes past a simple sentence and into the intention, the heart of the speaker. The memorial was a perfect example. I couldn't trust my ears because I couldn't understand, but I could trust my heart if I listened deeper. I had to read past letters and words on the program. Watching the family speak was all I had to do. Emotion, like golf, is a universal language.
It is amusing how words could mean nothing, but the emotion, the passion behind them conveys the raw emotion within a person's heart. Everyone has the capability to understand this when it comes to another human being. When it came to the memorial, emotion was heavy in the air. You could tell they all wanted to hold her one last time, to tell her that they loved her and that they did not want her to leave yet. It is an unfortunate pain that we all experience at one point in our lives. We all want more time with our loved ones. Death is the only thing that tears us apart. It breaks a piece of our heart and reminds us that it is a natural part of life. We have to accept it, even if we do so resentfully. It is a sensation that transcends words. Transcends what is spoken and escapes as tears or anger or as an action that one cannot explain. Emotion is that powerful. That day, any lack of understanding languages was meaningless. You understood. It didn't matter that we came from different backgrounds. It didn't matter if words were unable to convey the message to those listening. We knew why we were there. We understood what was happening. I still feel sorry for them and I do wish they had a little more time with her. I am glad that I was able to be a part of that memorial. I believe that the grandmother is proud of her legacy because even through the tears and choked sobs, you understood the love and respect they had for their matriarch.
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