I’ve wanted to write about suffering. It’s a topic that’s been on my mind a lot lately. I’ve started about fifteen different posts on the subject but have trashed each one feeling they were wholly inadequate in conveying what it is I want to say. And there’s a lot I want to say.
But I fear any attempt to consolidate those thoughts into a single post would create a collection of trite sayings that not only trivializes suffering but also maligns any well-intentioned effort to console. A careless word can cause considerable damage to a person in pain. For now I will only say a few things.
The temptation in suffering is to cuddle up with your pain like a warm blanket on a cold, lonely night. But stay there long enough and it will become the noose around your neck (Stick with me. I swear I’m going somewhere with this and promise to bring in the letters, and WWII, etc). As counterintuitive as it is, you must learn to pull your gaze away from yourself and turn it upon another. Among other things, it gives us perspective.
There’s a great quote from Regina Brett that reads, “If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab ours back.” I’ve admitted before that this is in large part the reason I started this project, for the comfort in saying, “Good Lord, at least I don’t have to deal with that!” But I’ve also found there is a great deal to be learned from the way in which people responded to the unthinkable atrocities and immense suffering inflicted by Adolf Hitler and the Nazi Party. But even before the war these men and women were well acquainted with pain.
Päpä’s father died when he was four. I think from a heart attack. His mother couldn’t afford to keep him and so Päpä was sent to live with his Aunt Ora and Uncle Traylor. Uncle Traylor was, like my own father, a Methodist minister. He taught Päpä to ring the church bells, something my grandfather was quite proud of.
Aunt Ora was the only teacher of a one-room school. She took Päpä with her every day and sat him with the first graders until he was old enough to progress with his peers. Päpä sometimes joked he was in first grad for 3 years. Ora and Traylor loved Päpä as their own, but he missed his mother deeply.
Those letters, at least 100 years old, come from the hand of a little boy who aches for his mother and cannot understand why they aren’t together. Why doesn’t she come? Why doesn’t she write? The mother in me can’t read these letters without grieving for the poor, little boy who is so broken and confused and feeling abandoned (my own mother wouldn’t even let me read the letters to her!). Children should be safe in the arms of their mothers.
Päpä started working part-time when he was 12, I believe as a newsboy. By the time he was fifteen, he was working fulltime during the day and attending night school to complete his high school education. He never went to college.
Mimi’s father died the month after she met Päpä. He was a successful businessman, but the family lost almost everything during the Great Depression through, as my grandmother said, “good investments gone bad.” Somehow Päpä always managed to find work during the Depression, but other family members were not as lucky, and they would be called on to help.
The effects of the Great Depression were astounding. By 1933, 15 million Americans were unemployed. Homelessness rates soared, and families were torn apart as husbands and sons left to find work or simply to escape embarrassment. Domestic violence rates as well as suicide and crime rates dramatically increased, as well. Suffering was all around them.
There’s the old cliché “that which doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger’.” Anyone who has ever been told this in the midst of their own suffering will tell you how tempting it is to punch the person who said it in the face. It’s a statement that seems flippant and dismissive. And yet there is truth to it.
I prefer what Thomas Merton says:
“The more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt. The one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers most.”
~The Seven Story Mountain
Suffering does create resiliency. It is also in suffering that you discover things more important than self-preservation, things worth fighting for. This is what allowed men and women to fight the shadow of darkness that was aggressively stretching across Europe, indeed the world.
I recently read an interview of a man who served in the 39th M.R.U. in Munich. He was asked if he thought there was something special about his generation that allowed them to respond to the war as they did. He said, no. Any generation would have done just as they did. But I disagree.
V-mail, or Victory Mail, can be quite difficult to read, but it provided a secure way for soldiers to communicate with their loved ones back home. At the bottom of the poem on the first letter, Päpä writes, “Sorry Mother that I am not there to give you a great big hug and a kiss. I’m sure looking forward to our celebrating your ….together. Happy Birthday and lots of love. Fred.”
The second letter reads:
This isn’t much of a letter, but here it is Saturday night or Sunday morning rather and I don’t want the week to pass without letting you know that I’m thinking of you always.
Virginia has written a lot about the activities at Tyler Street (their church) and today I received a letter from Ronald and Coleen French telling me more. Sounds like our church is really doing a lot-especially for the young people. I’m glad, for I can’t think of anything more vital at home now that the problem of keeping the youngsters away from the tempting evils a world at war presents.
I shall write you a more long letter tomorrow or later on today, Mother. I keep on forgetting its already Mother’s Day. I’d write it now but I’m sure I can do much better after a few hours sleep and that will let you know I love you. Fred”