An Open Letter

My friend,

You know this already. It's nothing new to you. You said as much to me last night. But in our line of work, you do what you can, and you do your best. But it will never, ever be enough. It's not you. It's just that there is so very much need out there. There's no way we can take care of it all. We can't fix everything and everybody. We can't take away their suffering. Sometimes the best we can do is just to sit there and listen and feel horrible right along with them.

You said you'd have to be crazy to want to do this. People act as though it's a bad thing. As though reaching out to others despite the costs to yourself is a disorder. They say it's unhealthy. But I meant it when I told you, I'd think you were a right bastard if you could know what you know, and see what you see, and then NOT do what you do. I wouldn't like you. I'd think you were thoughtless at best, heartless at worst.

What sets you and me and those like us apart from the rest is that we are AWARE, truly aware of the poverty and suffering that exists in this world, even in this country. And once you know, you can't turn your back on it. Not if you're human. So maybe it has required us to take steps away from our society. And maybe our friends and family will think we're extreme or they simply won't 'get' what we do. And maybe we'll have days like you've had this week. But we know, and because we know we can't walk away. We can't ever leave it be.

I'm sorry for you, for this week you're having. And I realize too that there are layers in this thing called 'compassion fatigue'. You get overwhelmed because of the suffering you see in others. I had trouble sleeping last night for the suffering I see in you. We must do this together. We must be able to rely on each other to help out, to sit and listen, to rant and rave, to cry, to laugh, to encourage. We must do this because we can.

"Can is not the same as must."
"But when you must and you can, then you have no excuse."

I'm here. Everyday I'm here. Just like when you sat with me last year, and listened to me over an over, a broken record, floundering and sad. This is all part of it. You don't get to be the strong one all the time. It's my turn now. So do what you must with the people you serve. Make the tough decisions and accompany them, and stand strong to help them. Then come sit with me and let it all fall away.

Of course I don't think you're weak. I think you're beautiful.

Peace be upon you,
Kati