Invisible - (def.) Unable to be seen.
As a child, I played a superhero game. If you could have a superpower, what would it be? The choices included: invisibility, flying, superhuman strength and x-ray vision. We chose our special power and argued why it was the best. We told each other what we would do if we could fly, disappear or see through walls.
Now as an adult, I am struck by invisibility. The more I consider being invisible, it becomes clear that it is not a super power at all. As I observe the world, my people, my friends and myself, I see it's everywhere.
The baby screams, giant tears roll down his plum-colored cheeks. His shrieks pierce the air. He won't nurse. He won't sleep. He won't stop. His mother bounces up and down, jogging in place and holding him in her arms. Her tears join his.
"I see you," she whispers. "You exist. I see you. I hear you. I love you." Her endless bouncing provides a rhythm for her words.
***
An elderly man sits hunched over on a park bench. He closes his eyes, tilting his face to the sun. He lives alone. Every day he circles the park and sits on this bench. This year more friends are dead than alive. His wife is dead. The pendulum of life shifts, as he navigates his closing chapters. A young man sits down beside him and asks him about his day. He waits for an answer. He listens to the old man's story.
I see you.
***
A cool autumn morning, a mother heaves a 40 lb. double stroller into the back of her dirty minivan while the baby sobs in his car seat. She attempts to slam the trunk and the stroller topples down on her leg. She swears. The baby cries. Tears fill her eyes. An older woman slowly walks a straggly mutt down the sidewalk. The creak of her knees is almost audible. "A mother's strength," she marvels as she watches the bewildered young mother.
Her words are a gift.
I see you.
***
A doctor knocks on the door of her patient's room. A woman sits on the reclined medical chair. Her legs stick to the tissue, separating her from the plastic seat. Her tired eyes scan the doctor's face, anxious to hear the test results. The doctor sits down beside her. She asks her how she feels? The doctor listens and talks to the patient the way she would want a physician to talk to her or her family member. The results aren't good. The patient's eyes fill with tears. Her doctor grabs her hand. "I am so sorry," she says.
She hugs her patient.
I see you.
***
A woman walks through a busy mall. Tears distort her vision. Grief guts her. She feels invisible. A part of her is gone and will never return. She wonders about his last thoughts, words and feelings. A stranger approaches her and looks at the woman's swollen red face. The stranger doesn't cringe at the sight of snot streaming from her nose. "Can I help you?" The stranger asks, wrapping her arms around the adult who feels more like a child.
"He died," the woman gasps.
"I am so sorry." The stranger whispers and holds her crumpled body.
I see you.
***
Every day he works. Every day he leaves the house while his wife and children sleep buried in stuffed animals and down comforters. He drives to the office. This man could be anyone. He types notes, sees patients, writes briefs, calls clients, bags groceries, builds houses, fixes pipes, answers phones and sells stocks. For years he gives 100% of himself to his job with no recognition.
The daily grind -- is this what life is about? Will these be my days for the next 30 years? He thinks. He is drained. He feels like an invisible cog in the corporate machine.
Then his supervisor visits his office. "Wow, I'm impressed. The corporate office recognizes how hard you work. It's impressive. What can we do for you?"
I see you.
***
She sits on her couch. The children play on the floor. The house is a mess, half-finished puzzles, broken crayons, papers cut into millions of odd shaped slices cover the hard wood floor. The baby nurses, sucking every last bit of energy out through her chest. Disappointment settles on her shoulders. She wanted the house to be clean before her husband got home. Dinner is not ready. Bills cover the dark granite counters. This is my job, she thinks, and today I failed.
Her husband walks in the door. He puts his coat and bag on the counter stool. He walks to his wife on the couch and kisses her head. "Thank you," he says. "Thank you for working so hard today." His words lift the weight from her shoulders. "Let's order pizza," he says.
I see you.
***
A little girl sits on the pavement during recess. She picks up a piece of sidewalk chalk and draws a picture next to the four square court. Some girls giggle, bolting by her in a streak of color. She loves to play, but she doesn't know how to join the group. She sits, feeling invisible.
Then, a girl with short blonde hair approaches her. She wears a Star Wars t-shirt and pink pants. "Race me," she shouts. The quiet girl hesitates, but then jumps up and runs.
The challenge to race -- a life raft for a lonely girl in a sea of children.
I see you.
***
Recognition, empathy and connection, small acts that have the power to heal marriages, friendships, employee dissatisfaction and improve domestic and foreign policy. Everyone feels better when they are SEEN.
Oh, if we practiced SEEING each other -- what a wonderful world it would be.