I was sitting in the warm dentist's waiting room yesterday, waiting for my mother to finish her appointment. The sounds of his dental practice were prominent: the shrill sound of his drill, the clutter of tools falling, the receptionist answering phone calls and her chatting away to some waiting patients. I happened to look past the glass door to the outside garden.
There, on the paving, stood the tiniest little olive thrush I’d ever seen. Although it was standing, it was visibly shivering and its little feathers were in disarray. One or two plumes were sticking out obscurely and its back feathers looked wet. It was obviously in trouble. I put down the quilting piece I was sewing and asked the receptionist to buzz me out of the locked door.
As I reached down to pick up the injured bird, it struck me that I was interfering in nature’s ways. But it is instinctive for me to try and help anything injured – to remove it from its trauma. Often, however, I forget that trauma is just a process of life and, by design, necessary.
In the bird’s case, so many dynamics were possible – illness could potentially have made it more susceptible to a possible cat attack or perhaps, for some good ecological reason, it might have been rejected by its parents. There could have been a milliad of other reasons why it was there. My instinct to remove it from its environment and “protect” was misplaced! A change of environment and helping human hands would add further stress to an already frail creature. In addition, I was ill equipped to search and select that special diet that the injured bird needed.
Is this not the perfect analogy to us trying to help our fellow human beings who are traumatised or in pain? Is it not wiser, when someone is distressed to take an emotional step backwards and to view one’s role in the interaction objectively?
There, on the paving, stood the tiniest little olive thrush I’d ever seen. Although it was standing, it was visibly shivering and its little feathers were in disarray. One or two plumes were sticking out obscurely and its back feathers looked wet. It was obviously in trouble. I put down the quilting piece I was sewing and asked the receptionist to buzz me out of the locked door.
As I reached down to pick up the injured bird, it struck me that I was interfering in nature’s ways. But it is instinctive for me to try and help anything injured – to remove it from its trauma. Often, however, I forget that trauma is just a process of life and, by design, necessary.
In the bird’s case, so many dynamics were possible – illness could potentially have made it more susceptible to a possible cat attack or perhaps, for some good ecological reason, it might have been rejected by its parents. There could have been a milliad of other reasons why it was there. My instinct to remove it from its environment and “protect” was misplaced! A change of environment and helping human hands would add further stress to an already frail creature. In addition, I was ill equipped to search and select that special diet that the injured bird needed.
Is this not the perfect analogy to us trying to help our fellow human beings who are traumatised or in pain? Is it not wiser, when someone is distressed to take an emotional step backwards and to view one’s role in the interaction objectively?
“What are the events that have led up to this situation?”
“Is it really wise to remove this person from their situation?”
“Are we really more equipped to handle it than them?”
“Are we taking away from their personal life experience by getting involved?”
“Are we indeed involved? Should we be involved?”
Perhaps one of the greatest gifts we can give someone is simply to “Be there”, to show we care and then allow them to direct the way.
In the bird’s case, I went to fetch a shallow cardboard box from the receptionist and placed it open-lidded in the sun to get warm. I gently lifted the bird into its protection. Then, against all instinct, I went inside, giving it time to recover and decide its own fate. What made it doubly difficult was that I knew there were cats around. But I left it there.
A little while later, when Mom had finished her appointment, we went outside. I glanced sideways to the grass next to the pavement where I’d placed the box. The box was still there, but the bird had gone.
Who knows what its fate was, but the point is...
In the bird’s case, I went to fetch a shallow cardboard box from the receptionist and placed it open-lidded in the sun to get warm. I gently lifted the bird into its protection. Then, against all instinct, I went inside, giving it time to recover and decide its own fate. What made it doubly difficult was that I knew there were cats around. But I left it there.
A little while later, when Mom had finished her appointment, we went outside. I glanced sideways to the grass next to the pavement where I’d placed the box. The box was still there, but the bird had gone.
Who knows what its fate was, but the point is...
It was ITS fate, NOT MINE!
Sometimes it is best to just leave things be....
