Pain

Last night I was watching my niece and nephew. We got out of my car after a rousing trip to McDonald's and the grocery store, and I proceeded to shut the trunk--on my niece's little fingers. I was afraid they were stuck and that I would be caught fumbling for my keys in order to free the poor thing. There was definite relief when I gave her hand a quick tug and pulled, getting her fingers out of there.

Her 2-year-old wails filled the garage as I scooped her up. "I'm so so SORRY!" I told her. I made promises of ice for her hand and ice cream for her tummy... Luckily, the damage was none too severe, because soon the Veggie Tales movie was way more exciting than her pinched hand.

I worry sometimes about the pain I inflict on others. Whether it be emotional, physical, psychological...doesn't matter. I hate to be the cause of the hurt. But hurt and pain are inevitable, it seems.

My niece's pain in her smashed fingers seemed trite compared to what followed: seeing my 8-year-old nephew's face as he was told that his grandma would be dying soon. Watching my brother-in-law trying to be strong for his kids as his only remaining parent battles cancer and pain and hurt I personally cannot fathom. Hearing my sister tell me about how she will be losing not just a mother-in-law, but a friend.

I hate to see the hurt.

I hate hurting.