Jottings From Fifth & G: We need each other

Two thousand years ago there was a type of pilgrimage where followers entered a temple and began circling right. Pilgrims with heavy hearts, feeling lost and alone, entered and circled to the left, walking against the current. Those who encountered a clockwise circler would look that person in the eyes and inquire, “Where are you hurting?” The ritual used the power of community as medicine. The way goodness and healing enter the world is through other people. Patrick Malee said the same thing in his editorial about how neighbors helped one another during the recent ice storm. “No matter what the world throws at us, things are better when we care for one another.”

I learned that my childhood friend, Greta, was slowly dying of an ugly neurological disease. We were in high school in the days when the school only recognized men as athletes. We were part of a softball team that formed during the summer playing girls in surrounding small towns. We had a name, uniforms and a fight chant. And we had esprit d’corps. Greta was the solid second base player who was calm, focused and never let a base hit get by her. The rest of us counted on that steadiness. On hearing the news about Greta, I immediately was that high school girl again and wanted to reach out to my teammate. But that connection was over 50 years ago! After high school, Greta married and started a family in our hometown. I left for college and wandered even farther from the town with career choices. So, although I wanted to reach out, I hesitated.

Was I part of her community anymore?

Would her family, who didn’t know me, consider this an indecent interest that I reach out now when I haven’t reached out during the good times? Would I be invading her privacy by revealing that word of her disease had reached across the continent?

Would it even make a difference? She didn’t expect to hear from me so there could be no regrets on her side. That thought almost left me off the hook.

But I could not stop thinking about her. I know people can isolate when they experience something that makes them feel different. I know the world too can isolate them because the world may not know what to say. I did not want Greta to feel outside the fold or that she was being punished in some way. I pushed against my feelings of inadequacy and sent a letter.

I named the qualities I admired in her all those years ago and told her I still feel great affection whenever I hear her name. It felt like too little but, whatever happened, my mind was finally at peace.

Months later another friend from that softball team contacted me. She had encountered the wheelchair bound Greta. Greta was carrying my letter and had pulled it out to read aloud. She said the letter reminded her who she was. I felt like I had succeeded in looking a fellow pilgrim in the eyes.

Sharon Brous reflected on the pilgrimage ritual, “This practice speaks to what it means to be human in a world of pain. This year you walk the path of the anguished. Perhaps next year it will be me. I hold your broken heart knowing that one day you will hold mine.”