Gloriousness and Wretchedness

Life is glorious, but life is also wretched. It is both. Appreciating the gloriousness inspires us, encourages us, cheers us up, gives us a bigger perspective, energizes us. We feel connected. … On the other hand, wretchedness–life’s painful aspect–softens us up considerably. Knowing pain is a very important ingredient of being there for another person. When you are feeling a lot of grief, you can look right into somebody’s eyes because you feel you haven’t got anything to lose–you’re just there. … Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us. They go together.

— Pema Chödrön (Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living)

Lately it feels as if I am reaching the limit of my emotional capacity—my container, as it were, is if not overflowing, then damn near full. It seems like I’m looking at everyone around me through a pair of polarized sunglasses, bringing their pain, regret, injustice, joy and gratitude into vivid clarity. The highs seem higher, the lows lower.

Life seemed simpler when I was just bobbing along the surface. Digging in the dirt of the real and sometimes unmeetable special needs of my children, my family and even myself has brought me into contact with a side of life that I’d rather not know about.

Without afflicting you with the horrifying details, I was beyond saddened—I was sickened–last week to read of the case of abuse and coverup at the Judge Rotenberg Center. Years ago I would have shaken my head at the inhumanity of it; now I take it personally and read it as if it is happening to my own children. It’s so raw and extreme and I know it’s not helpful, but I don’t know how else to be right now.

It triggers a nerve, begging the question that many parents of children with special needs contemplate—what will happen to my child when I die in a world of so much fear, so much ignorance, so much evil? I know, I know, heavy stuff, and not what you came here to read about. I sat with the question for a moment, breathed deeply and got on with life. What else can one do?

And though this is the new normal for me, I can’t leave this post hanging that way. As I said, the lows are lower, but the highs are higher too.

This weekend we went camping with some old friends. Their daughter is only a few days older than my son, though cognitively and physically they have seemed light years apart for a long time. She is becoming a beautiful, intelligent, strong girl and I’ve observed for the last few years how she tries to make sense of the boy who she once considered her best friend, who cannot always keep up with her fun, but who delights so much in everything she does that he literally cannot stop laughing when he’s with her.

She and I had a few minutes alone together walking in the camp ground. Surrounded by so much nature, we got to talking about the cells that all living things are made of. It seemed a teachable moment, and so I then remarked on how there are genes in each cell which give instructions on what the cell should do, and that sometimes these genes start giving the wrong instructions. In her friend’s case, I explained, the instructions about growing and learning are a little mixed up. “But sometimes there’s a good side of these mix-ups,” I said. Her eyes lit up with her a-ha moment, she nodded and without missing a beat, she said, “Because he thinks everything I do is funny!”

To watch her have that awakening, that difference is natural and sometimes beautiful—I can only wonder why I spend so much time worrying about the world when it is filled with so much love, so much awareness, so much connection.

Heartbreaking challenge and breathtaking beauty. Wretchedness and gloriousness. They go together indeed. And luckily, as the emotional containerthat is my heart is pushed to the limits of its capacity, it is seemingly growing bigger.