What Makes You Hurt?

I needed to take a small step away from reminiscing about Jimmy. It makes me hurt. The sense of loss gurgles up and my heart aches and I end up crying. Don’t misunderstand, I am not living in the past, but the sentiment jabs at me like a bee sting. It hurts and throbs, swells and reddens, and eventually it fades away leaving an uncontrollable itch.

I made a statement this morning about the internal sty I have been dealing with for the better part of a week. I’m on antibiotics and mentioned that antibiotics have taken away the hurt of the sty and then went on to remark it would be nice if antibiotics could take away all the hurts in life.
So, what makes you hurt? Not the physical pain, the pain that lingers in your head, your heart, your soul? Most definitely, the loss of a loved one leaves an indelible mark. Much like my memories of Jim: they are bittersweet. At times I laugh hysterically with friends when we share a funny Jim story. But, after the laughter fades, I have that unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feeling of emptiness and foreboding.

I always say that my stomach is the great predictor of bad things. So, why are the memories of Jim always leaving me with those feelings? I suppose it is my hurt. Maybe it is my own fear of the unknown. I felt with Jim that the future was predictable. We would retire and we would sip cool drinks on a hot beach. So will I have the cool drink and hot sand between my toes? Will it be the Widow watching the sunset wishing I have Jim’s hand in mine, or will there be someone else to share those moments with?

The “hurts” through the years have been in many forms and fashion. My mom and I had a difficult (at best) relationship throughout my teens, and then into my early to mid 20’s. I was hurt by many a cruel (yes, intentional) remark she would toss my way. I was well into my adult life before I could shrug off her barbs and share with my sister Sue the pain I’d endured by mom’s comments. Little did I know, Sue had suffered just as much and felt to some extent the way I did in her teens. Wow, eye opener. So, when Sue shared with me her difficulties with mom, I hurt for Sue. And by the way, I think Sue is a Goddess. I’ve always taken the slings and arrows and tried to shrug them off, but I do hurt for my siblings when they were on the receiving end of mom’s barbs.

I hurt for my mom when she had to handle my father’s illness and his eventual death. I wish she was cognizant enough to talk about that period; I really would have liked to have the “young widow” conversation with her. Maybe both of our “hurts” could have been tempered by sharing our similar stories of the death and dying of a husband.

I hurt every time I think of mom, trapped in a fairly healthy body with a much deteriorated mind. What does she think? Can she think? Are there moments of lucidity that we don’t see when she has instantaneous fear of what has become of her? That is beyond hurt, it kills me
I hurt when I see damaged animals alongside the roadway. Did they suffer?

I hurt when I pass funeral processions? What is the story? A life cut short or a life lived to the fullest?

I hurt to write this blog. I am for sure gonna get feedback from friends and family about a time I hurt them. I am sure I have, and if I did, and I have not made amends, trust me, I AM sorry. Ok, by now you really do think I’m self-centered. I am no angel. I have caused hurt to folks in my life. I know when I do and I do try to make it right…ok detractors…leave comments here!
See, here is the twist. We don’t always know what hurts an individual. There is no sign on their chest indicating the thickness of their skin. There have been times that comments have hurt me to the core and if it had been 24 hours later it would have run off my back.

Our human frailties ebb and flow. One day we have a coat of armor and the next day we are as fragile as an egg. I find that my friends often throw comments my way because they truly believe I am “unhurtable”. When in fact, I just take the remarks and tuck them away. I don’t tell them they hurt me, maybe I should. I have a strong appreciation for friends that call me out if I step on their toes or touch a nerve. How would I know if someone doesn’t speak up? Perhaps I should take a lesson from those friends and adopt the ability to say, “Hey that was a hurtful remark. I know it was in jest, but it touched a nerve that causes me pain.” Now, in our youth that would have been fuel for more “cut downs”, but as adults, it is time to reflect and to see what hurtful things we say in the guise of a fun jab.

The intent should not be to jab back, but to accept the remark and reflect back with an observation of how it makes you feel. I have done just that. I sleep on remarks, I don’t chew on them. After sleeping on things, I decide if it is important enough to address with the “sender”, or not. Most time not. By then it is yesterday’s news and yesterday’s hurt. I like to keep moving forward.

Now misery is a whole different story. Let me say, I hate miserable people. Get a life, stop being a victim. Victim’s raise your hand here. OOOOppppssss, did I just hurt someone? Sorry!

Ha, see how easy that was? Now, I won’t discuss my “victim mentality” take on life. I am no victim, but I’ve know a few. Let me just say, only the victim can shake off the handcuffs to their misery. OOOOppsss…sorry again. If that hurt, email me at thewidowfike@gmail.com and I’ll personally apologize.

So, sit back and think of what makes you hurt? I can tell you I have pondered that time and time again. The hurts change and antibiotics only cure those ailments physical in nature. Ailments closer to the head, heart, and soul are much more complex. Tight shoes are high on the list of hurts, but that is not the hurt I’m doing the soul searching on.