I think these kind of people are ‘gifts’ and they have the gift of a natural kindness. They are happier and more content in themselves as a consequence. Psychology tells us this. But that’s not why they are doing it.
Often we feel the need to do things. We rush to get the Mass Card because we don’t want to be avoiding Mary in Tescos anymore. You very nearly bumped into her last week. How long is her husband dead? And maybe there is a friend that you no longer meet as often or know as well – you hear that he is going through a crisis. Must get to him one of these days. A one-fingered salute from the steering wheel or a quick flash of the lights when you pass him in busy traffic. Must call to him one of these days! It’s hard though. So much on. So much other things to do. And Kathleen – must send her a congratulations card. Great achievement to pass that degree, particularly having to juggle night-time classes with four children!!
Some people do not feel the need to do things like this at all. The kindness seems to flow naturally from them. They are the people that make contact with us at times of need or crisis. They are the people we can depend. They see us as well as themselves.
During crisis we often learn more about people. Many people who hardly know me went to the trouble to write to me after I lost my mother on the 6th February 2010. They didn’t have to. I wasn’t expecting them to. They could have got away with a lot less. They could have waited until they would eventually meet me if ever. I think these kind of people are ‘gifts’ and they have the gift of a natural kindness. They are happier and more content in themselves as a consequence. Psychology tells us this. But that’s not why they are doing it. The ability to be compassionate is more fruitful than to be merely sympathetic. Compassion involves reaching out to those in need.
I got this lovely poem from someone who wrote to me recently. I love it.
The Dead (Billy Collins)
The dead are always looking down on us, they say,
while we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich,
they are looking down through the glass-bottom boats of heaven
as they row themselves slowly through eternity.
They watch the tops of our heads moving below on earth,
and when we lie down in a field or on a couch,
drugged perhaps by the hum of a warm afternoon,
they think we are looking back at them,
which makes them lift their oars and fall silent
and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.
Thank you Eddie for the kind letter and this poem.
Also thank you Rosemarie for the book – ‘Coming Home’ by Colm Keane. I’m dipping in an out of it. It is a comfort. The kindness in the giving of the poem and book are very powerful reflections of the people that sent them my way.