Vanessence: Whensday

I don’t remember his name. I only met him once, before I went to his funeral. He came into the store I managed, to apply for a job. Most of his friends worked there, and they encouraged him to apply. For reasons unknown to me, the owner didn’t hire him. Many of his friends were also my friends. At least, they were the kids I worked with on a daily basis and they felt like younger siblings in a lot of ways. We often hung out in our off time, had parties, that sort of thing.

So when their friend and classmate was killed in a motorcycle accident, they, as a group, asked me to go to the wake with them for moral support. I was older, they said, and somehow that 2-3 year age difference translated – to them – into some kind of worldly wisdom I didn’t possess, not now and not at 19. Heck, I’d never even been to a wake at a funeral home before. But for them, I went.

I realized later that I really wasn’t there for my friends at all. They had other friends and classmates who were there as well for he was a popular young man, and they found support in their shared grief, a grief I didn’t share. I was there for the woman who’d lost her husband and only child in less than 2 years, I just didn’t realize that at the time. I watched her as I waited in the greeting line. She’d shake hands with her son’s friends, weep, wipe her eyes, shake more hands, weep more, her shoulders quaking under the weight of her loss. She had no one. No loving and grieving husband with a shoulder to lean on. No one even touched her, really, except for the handshakes. She was trying so hard to be strong, to be a pillar, to not break down in front of her son’s friends, and not having a clue how to do that.

When my turn came for a greeting, she looked at me questioningly. “I didn’t know your son,” I began, “but I know many of his friends.” She nodded and said, “Oh,” as though she understood. “I’m so sorry,” I finished. And then I hugged her.

Something happened when I did that. I don’t know what it was, but I know she felt it too, for she gasped, and I felt her body straighten as she hugged me back. Then she gave me a squeeze and released me. I felt it then, the unbearable heaviness of her grief, and I started to cy, while she had stopped. She touched my cheek tenderly and said, “Thank you for that, for taking that. I just need to get through this night, thank you.” I nodded and then looked around for my friends, saw that they were all engaged in little groups, so I went back to my car where I sat weeping for at least an hour.

A couple of my friends found me like that as they were leaving the wake. They asked if I was okay and I told them I was. I asked them how their friend’s mother was doing and they said she was okay, she’d somehow pulled herself together and was holding up all right. I nodded, thanked them, and made the drive home. I didn’t comprehend the how of it, but I did understand that somehow I had carried her grief for her, just for an evening, so she could get through it.

I remembered that event because a few weeks ago a FaceBook friend shared a link to this article: Empath Traits: Signs Of A Highly Sensitive Person

Have you ever walked in a room and had a wave of negative energy wash over you?

Have you had a conversation with a stranger and could tell, without them saying a word about it, that they were deeply troubled or sad?

Do you ever feel so profoundly moved by something beautiful that you start to cry?

If any of these ring true for you, you might be an empath — a highly sensitive person who has a more heightened awareness to subtle stimuli.

If you are an empath, you’ve likely known for some time you are different from most people around you. You’ve probably been accused of being too sensitive or overly emotional your whole life. As a child, you may have had a hard time adjusting to new situations. You may have cried easily, had unusually deep thoughts, or asked out-of-the-ordinary questions.

You may even believe there’s something wrong with you or that you have some kind of emotional disorder.

Empath Traits: Signs Of A Highly Sensitive Person

Yes. Yes to all 22 statements in the article (and the intro too), except not so much on the last one – I don’t get bored very easily. (And I’m only good at #9 when I don’t have an emotional investment in the person.) The article helped a lot – especially in realizing that I’m really not that weird. At least, not in regards to this. Winking smile I can’t control how I feel things, only how I react to them. And at this point in my life, I have managed to learn how to control my responses to things a little better, just out of necessity. Except for physical pain. Pain practically requires the use of swear words, don’tcha know.

The article also helped me understand why I’m so distant sometimes, or seem to wear masks sometimes. I’m mentally creating buffer zones, as it were, to keep from feeling overwhelmed by situations, or people. I’ve had a lot of criticism in the past for being too sensitive and I’ve learned to keep quiet about my feelings until I am comfortable with someone. I used to wonder if being so sensitive was a blessing or a curse – often it seemed to be both. Now I just think of it like … how some people can detect the scent of cyanide, and most cant. It’s just a thing. And it happens to be my thing, like the grey eyes or the formerly blonde hair. I can feel people’s feelings.

How about you? Do you have some kind of ability that you didn’t understand before?