Empathy versus sympathy

Sleet begins to fall on dead leaves of oak. As ice crystals hit the ground, the world comes to life with the sounds of winter.

Like rain on a tin roof, the hard, frozen water reverberates off the mountain, making a uniform snap, tap, clap like soldiers marching in unison. The sound slowly increases until conversation stops while all are forced to listen to the beauty.

A squirrel, brought to attention by the impending weather, scurries down the fence line in search of food. The rodent jumps off the fence onto the ponderosa pine in my back yard, searching for nuts from the feeder nailed to the tree. He opens the top of the box, finds the cavity empty and scolds me with a chatter and hiss.

Deserving my scolding, I put down my coffee, slip on my boots, quickly grab a bag of peanuts from the garage and fill the feeder to the top. The squirrel shows his appreciation by quickly returning to the box and filling his cheeks with nuts.

Jumping from branch to branch like a trapeze artist, the little furry critter lights on the ground and attempts to bury his food in the frozen tundra. Unsuccessful in his attempt, he quickly rejoins the tree tops and disappears from sight.

I find myself outside on this subfreezing January day, in my pajamas, wearing snow boots and a Rocky the Flying Squirrel hat, and realize this is the first time I’ve been in my backyard in months. November rain followed by December snow makes my yard inhabitable. I stand in the middle of the yard, paralyzed. My mind begins to race.

Ice crystals fall from the sky, land on my

eyelash and slowly melt.

As droplets of moisture enter my eye, salty tears begin to fall on my cheek.

This has been a tough week.

Great friends fight unimaginable battles as illness attacks their bodies.

Pets too young to die leave an empty dog bed on the family room floor and my mail has mysteriously disappeared from this world for the past nine days.

The lights in my kitchen decide to remain dark, my dogs both having kennel-cough ensure a restful night's sleep is impossible, my wife’s new car has its “check engine” light on and work is overwhelmingly stressful.

I stand surprised at my emotion and wipe the now icy tear from my face.

Realizing that January can be tough on my spirit, I mentally check my emotional health and realize that I’m not depressed.

A daily dose of vitamin D and recent medical checkup confirms that my biology is finally in equilibrium after years of chemical deficiencies from living too far north and bathing in too little sunlight.

Why am I sad?

I have an amazing family who love me dearly as I do them, awesome dogs who make me laugh every day, a great job where I feel I make a positive difference in people’s lives and have fewer life stressors than most.

As I stand in the middle of my frozen yard I realize — I’m sad because I’m supposed to be. I have great friends going through tough circumstances, my life has been a bit disordered and things that I can usually control — like receiving mail — are now out of my control.

As I stand in the middle of my yard, the squirrel reappears with a few friends and raids the feeder box.

A flicker lands just above the squirrels, cocks his head to the side, taps his beak on the bark then quickly flits away.

My mood slowly begins to improve as I walk my snowy garden path, examining the vegetable beds.

This spring I will plant tomatoes in the large boxes, flowers in the small boxes and more herbs in the square boxes.

I push the snow off the glider bench, sit and think.

How can I help my friends?

How might I help those hurting?

How can I support those who need supporting?

My problems and minor life-disturbances disappear as I focus outside me.

My head spins as I struggle to support and empathize with those who need help while avoiding pity and sympathy.

How might I help build up and support people important to me while not simply feeling sorry for those who struggle?

This is my life journey.

I can fix the semantics of my life by fixing difficulties as they arise but I can’t fix sad things that happen to other people.

I can only attempt to empathize with them and do my best to be a good friend.

As my dad lay dying a few years ago a close family member refused to see him in the hospital because hospitals make him feel uneasy.

I share with this family friend that, “My dad’s death is not about you or your comfort. It’s about my dad.”

I firmly believe this to this day.

One often does what one does for one’s own comfort.

Caring, nurturing humans do everything possible to aid their fellow human to be comfortable, feel nurtured and to feel loved. Shallow, uncaring humans disregard other’s feelings when said feelings affect one’s own emotions.

William Rutherford is a psychotherapist, executive chef and elementary principal who writes about food, psychology and education. To contact him please email bprutherford@hotmail.com