A heart wrenching, humbling model of humanity
Many years ago, Asha Dornfest shared with me—and possibly our Edit Your Life listeners; it’s difficult to keep straight what we have said on the podcast vs. just between us—how much she values reading print newspapers. The importance of each story on a given day is articulated through intentional design—for example, whether the story makes the front page of a section or resides in the interior, whether the story is above or below the page fold, how the headline is sized, whether a photo is included.
There are no algorithms churning in real-time to serve you stories.
I have been a devoted Boston Globe print subscriber for a few years now. It was impossible to miss the headlines about the Clancy family tragedy that transpired in Duxbury, Massachusetts last Tuesday. I followed the story solely in print until early Sunday morning, when the hospital at which I was getting blood drawn had Boston’s NBC affiliate on the lobby television. I was called for my blood draw before I could see the entire segment focused on Patrick Clancy’s statement, but the seconds I did see stirred something in me. And so later at home, I took a breath, Googled, and braced myself.
And as I read, I was filled with sadness and awe, chest tight, eyes stinging with tears.
Patrick Clancy’s statement—issued amidst grief in the face of the deaths of his three children and the mental health struggles of his wife—is a heart wrenching, humbling model of humanity.
He begins with gratitude.
He celebrates the life of his children through everyday stories about what he held most dear.
He elevates his wife’s true self and their love for one another.
He asks people to find it in themselves to forgive.
And he closes with gratitude.
Amidst the tragedies of others, I think it is typical for people to orient the lens to one of their own perspectives and circumstances. We are, after all, self-centered in that we know our lived experiences best and attempt to relate and make sense of the world through these experiences.
In this case, I thought about postpartum depression, feeling certain I didn’t experience it with either of my babies, but also knowing I had plenty of rough, painful days.
I wondered about the small and large variables impacting postpartum depression, and went into a rage spiral about inequities and the challenges of the U.S. healthcare system.
I thought about how devastating it must feel to be faced with the intense, persistent needs of a newborn while you are slipping beneath the surface, gasping for air, hand outstretched, call for relief unanswered.
I wondered about the path of my two children (who may bear children one day if they choose and are able), one who I could—and did—hug tight (“Mom, are you okay?” “Yes, yes, I am okay, just really grateful for you and this moment.”), the other achingly out of reach at college a couple of hundred miles away.
And I thought with regret and discomfort about the many moments in life when I have not shown up with love and compassion and forgiveness.
In the face of trauma and predators and abuse and racism through childhood and young adulthood, I experienced what I call “emotional calcification”—a slow, steady, searing burn of life experiences that hardened my heart, stunted my emotional fluency, and rewired my cognitive abilities to reason and evaluate. I was left with a limited capacity to view the world in dichotomous fashion: good vs. bad.
How that played out in my real world experiences was not great. I could only see one side of a challenging situation. I would assume the worst in people when their less desirable (to me) side presented forward. I was quick to cast judgment on singular acts. In some instances, I lit a match with my words and set relationships ablaze; I would turn on my heel and stride away, unable to bear the burden of—or need to work through—yet another discomfort.
I have spent about half of my life so far working to chip away at this emotional calcification—to remind myself that I only know in entirety my own perspective. That every person is walking through life with their own stories and hurt. That there is so much I don’t know and will never know and that not knowing is okay. That each of us is doing the best we can based on what is laid available in our toolbox in a given moment.
The Clancy family story, a week later, has slipped off the front page of today’s Boston Globe—yesterday the story had moved from the front page to the Metro section with a focus on first responder care—but it continues to thrum at the edge of my consciousness, leaving me with questions:
How can I find a better edge and inch my way towards an elevated humanity when faced with “bad” emotions such as disappointment, frustration, anger, devastation?
How can I show up as a person who can feel gratitude in the face of loss?
How can I retrain my brain to remember the very best in people first, even when a more challenging side is what lies in front of me?
How can I hold forgiveness for others, and also myself?
It is humbling and necessary to read Patrick Clancy’s words. I hope you will do so and seek a better edge along with me.
If you wish to donate, there is a GoFundMe established for Patrick Clancy to help with medical bills, funeral services, and legal support.