Kindness. What would kindness mean? What would kindness look like?
Perhaps the question I need to start with is: what DOES kindness mean
Because I knew kindness. And I saw kindness. I saw it the night Suse and I met. She talked to me. More than that, she listened to me. That was a kindness. We spoke, together. We shared. We laughed. We dreamed of greener pastures for ourselves. We didn’t know then that we’d become that for each other. But we would. And there was kindness.
What does kindness mean? It means gentleness. Tenderness. It means knowing someone else and supporting them in any moment. It means carrying then, caring for them. It’s everything Suse was to me, and alot of what I was to her.
Which means I’ve always considered kindness to be an interpersonal quality, never an introverted one. Kindness to self I find difficult to compute. But I recognise it’s importance. And I recognise how kindness to self can actually be a service to others.
One of the fears I have of grief, I must admit, is allowing it to disintegrate me into narcissistic negativity. But that could be all too easy to let happen. Because what I’ve lost is so intimate, and what I’ve lost is so woven into who I am, it is very difficult not to be drawn into the centripetal self-absorption of grief.
Kindness to myself is going to have to recognise that. And so I never really want kindness to myself to be the end game. Suse showed me the wonder of selfless kindness. She taught me that through constant example. And I benefited from it tremendously.
But I’m recognising that kindness to self can be…no, it is…a kindness to others. Certainly being unkind to myself is not going to be helpful to anyone, especially my kids. Moreover, being unkind to myself is going to violate everything Suse was to me. How offensive it would be to her memory if I was to treat myself in the exact opposite way she treated me.
I do need to be kind to myself, but not simply for myself. My life consists of much more than me. And so kindness to self is going to involve self care for the sake of others.
It’s going to mean being HONEST with myself. It’s going to mean staring into the darkness. And it’s going to mean recognising that the default gait in that darkness is fumbling, not bounding.
Which means kindness is also going to mean being HUMBLE. Abandoning pride. I must admit, I enjoyed being Suse’s man. She admired my strength. It made her feel safe. And I loved being loved like that. But she also admired my vulnerability. She admired my weaknesses, and the fact I could admit them. The greatest kindness I can do for myself is admit that I’ve never felt weaker, never felt more incapable, never felt nore… exposed. And so kindness is going to mean being humble and accepting help.
It will involve surrender. It has involved surrender. But I do need to stand, slowly. And so kindness will involve PATIENCE. More than just a little. It will involve patience to slowly rehabilitate. Not heal. I don’t want to heal. I always want to hurt to some extent. Because I don’t want to not love her. And I certainly don’t want to ever forget her. But standing, slowly; stepping forward, cautiously; gradually building up fitness to carry the enormous weight of emptiness…that sort of patience will be a kindness.
But perhaps above all else, the greatest kindness I can do for myself is not permit this loss to give birth to regrets. I know I didn’t need this loss to become a better person. But I certainly don’t want it to dissolve me into a lesser one. And I don’t want the death of my kid’s mother to be the death of their father too. Kindness will involve not having regrets. It won’t mean being perfect, and so self forgiveness will be key. But kindness to self has to involve kindness to future self. I don’t want regrets.
If Suse loved me, and she did, then surely I should love me too.
