Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about.

I think about this quote often in the context of the Rube Goldberg contraption that is our life. If people were to look in through the window of our lives, they would be confounded by the complexity, the difficulty, and the weight of decisions we deal with daily. We have not been given the easy path and it is hidden from most work colleagues, neighbors, casual friends and even family.

This week I have had several opportunities to be reminded of this quote.

One recent bleary-eyed morning that I woke up in the intensive care unit, I stumbled out of the fish aquarium room to go find coffee and calories just after sunrise. It was a night with little sleep and significant stress from my son’s change in condition overnight. As I made my way down the long hall and out the locked doors of the ICU, I was following a man headed the same direction.

He was a big, strong man probably in his 30’s. He reminded me of a cowboy not necessarily someone you would run into in the metro area. I could see from his countenance and gait that the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His face was tired and worried with heavy dark circles under his eyes. Like a mirror, I recognize the weariness and worry that I carry too.

I followed him to the elevator and entered after him when the doors opened. It was a short trip down to the first floor. During the ride, I looked up at him and asked “How are you holding up?” It’s always a toss up if people will take the bait when you reach out to a stranger. He said “I am tired. He is stable now and the doctors think he will pull through.” I told this stranger I was glad to hear it and didn’t expect the conversation to go further.

As we arrived at the first floor, the doors opened and he stepped out to leave. He turned around to me and said “Thank you for asking. No one has asked me how I am doing.” This big strong man had his eyes filled with tears. I nodded and wished him well as he left.

The following day I boarded a different elevator to go to find food for us to eat. I held the door for a man who was rushing to get to the elevator. I saw in his face stress, worry and exhaustion. He was a thin man again probably in his 30s. Blonde hair and beard with a pony tail that went to his waist. I imagined him on a beach somewhere or at a concert enjoying life. As the doors closed, I asked him the same question “How are you holding up?” He paused to look at me before answering. He said “I’m exhausted.” He didn’t offer more words so I asked “How long have you been here?” “Since November.” I told him I was sorry and I hoped they get out soon. He thanked me as he headed out the door.

NOVEMBER! In my sleep deprived state, I checked my watch to make sure I was remembering the month correctly. June. Eight months. My heart flooded with emotions. While we haven’t done eight months straight as inpatient, I can empathize with the weight. Juggling work and children with illness. Relationships and wondering if your child will get better. Will life ever be the same again? My heart hurt for him the rest of the day.

I may have passed these two men in the hospital a 100 times and not have known what they were feeling or going through. Their pain and weariness was palpable. This place is a warzone and people survive it with varying levels of success.

“Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about.”

-WW