All I Could Do Was Empathize. A Short Story by Dyanna Potter
Art Direction and Photograph by: Catie Menke. Model: Dyanna Potter.
Model and Short Story by: Dyanna Potter
Creative Direction: Catie Menke
I knew the impending doom waiting for her. As her pulse quickened with uncertainty, mine stayed steady. The pain never leaves. You just learn to deal with it. She searched my eyes for some semblance of familiarity, of comfort, of reassurance, that it was going to be ok.
But I had none to offer. All I could do was empathize. As she reached for me, I caught her. She fell with a thud weighted by grief. We’ve all been here before and yet every time someone new goes through this process it cuts deep. I could feel the sobs starting to well within her. They would reach the surface soon and she would let out the most heart wrenching cry. One that feels like a knife to your gut.
I had felt that same bubbling of emotion with in me. When it happened, I remember looking around confused and scared. How could this happen to me? Why? What did I do to deserve this? The same old questions that never had an answer. Others tried to soothe me with words like:
Hang in there? Hang in there? My world is crumbling all around me and you want me to hang in there? My sense of self, my love, my drive, my future, just gone. And I’m supposed to hang in there. Hang on to what? Those answers brought anger and even more confusion. If I could handle this, why did it feel like I was slipping into oblivion?
Never the less I survived. Barely. I crawled back from the deep pits of hopelessness, recreated myself and pressed on. The version of me that I recreated was different. She had new strengths, but also fear. What if it happened again? What if I get my hopes up only to be crushed? I can’t go through that again. And yet, here I was. Reliving that pain only this time through someone else’s eyes.
She felt fragile in my arms. Shaking, hyperventilating, coughing. It’s as if I could feel her heart breaking ever so slowly. Like a long slow crack of the ice. It starts small and gets louder ultimately shattering leaving cold, dark waters ready to suck in any poor sap who gets too close. Oh, the cold dark waters. How they consume and drag you down. I felt like I was drowning. A little less every day, but still drowning. Gasping, reaching, hoping for some reprieve. And nothing.
I knew what was waiting for her as she began to cry. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. I wanted to say, “It’s going to be ok.” But I knew that was I lie. Instead I said nothing. Just held her. Rubbed her back, and her arms trying to soothe any way I could. This pain was one that leads you to question yourself. It leaves no room for hope to survive. Because this is something you were born to do. It’s a no-brainer. You were made for this. And yet you failed. The signs are sitting right in front of you.
As I sat there remembering all the steps ahead and the eventual relief that comes with time, I couldn’t help but wonder what if. What if I tried again and actually made it. What if I put my walls down and gave it another try? The first time it happened I felt like I could do it again. But the third, fourth, fifth I started to question. I felt broken. How could something so simple be so impossible?
The same lullaby my grandmother sang to me when I cried. I squeezed her tighter and hummed. Gently and quietly rocking her back and forth to help her calm down. Her tears stopped but the grief still hung in the air. Thick and heavy. I don’t know what it is about this melody, but it immediately soothes. It was passed down to me from my grandmother, and to her from her mother. I hummed to her generations of strong woman who used this tune to soothe. The type of woman who stood strong despite the fear because she knew she had no other choice. She was needed so she stood her ground. Firm and unwavering. She could hold any space for any pain, inviting it in with this melody.
That’s who I needed to be in this moment. Strong and unwavering. She needed me, and my strength, and I knew she would need me again. As she sat up and looked at me through her puffy eyes, and labored breaths she sighed. I handed her a glass of water and she sighed again. Not a single word was spoked between us. She looked at me and knew. Eventually she was going to be ok. It would take time, of course, but she would be ok.
As she laid back down with her head in my lap, one small tear escaped my eye. It dropped onto the back of my hand.
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