Terry fox and the hierarchy of suffering

This week, I’m thinking about suffering. The terrible shooting out West. The ICE-related deaths in the US. The thousands of protesters in Iran. Unfortunately, the list could go on and on. There’s so much sadness, I want to curl up in a corner and give up on humanity. Yet, there are always routes to the light in dark times. The Olympic Games can provide a route to togetherness, as we remind ourselves we are a nation. They also, however, create divisions, intrinsic to the competitive nature of the event.
 
When I was struggling with my illness and treatment, small things made an enormous difference: supportive texts and calls, meals, snow shovellers, dog walkers, those who sat with me and did puzzles or made me laugh. My own ordeal felt so small, compared to the world, yet so very large in my own life.  My close friend listened to me speak about this and said, “Karen, there’s no hierarchy of suffering.”

One person’s struggle does not discount or supersede another’s, that’s true. We live our own reality whether it involves bombs or failing grades, sickness or unfortunate hairstyles. It can be important, however, to consider the circumstances of others when trying to make sense of our own. Sometimes, that makes us appreciate the smallness of our suffering, or ways that we can improve the lot of another. Which brings me to Terry Fox.
 
I dealt with a lot of teenagers when I had my family practice, and also had two teens of my own. They can be self-centred and infuriating, impulsive, emotional, angry and unresponsive. What was different about 18-year-old Terry Fox? As most people know, he had just lost a leg, arguably one of the most traumatic cancer-related events that could happen to an active teen. He decided not just to raise money for cancer, not just to run despite his prosthesis, but to run a marathon a day all the way across Canada. [Here, as a parent, I wonder what I would have said. Probably something like “Hey honey, why don’t we aim for success here? Why not run one marathon, and go from there?” Worrying about failure and the impact that would have.] According to Wikipedia, his mother did discourage him at the start. Instead of listening, Terry ran 143 marathons, from Newfoundland to Thunder Bay. I thought about him a lot, as I went through my surgeries and treatment. I’m sure he had his grumpy days like anyone else, but his actions spoke loudly to me. There may be no hierarchy of suffering, but there are certainly those who endure with inspirational humility, grace, and selflessness.
 
I’m reminded, when I want to hide and give up on humanity, of those who supported me through my setback. Of Terry and his ability to see the big picture despite his own trauma. Of the protesters willing to give their lives for what they believe in. I’m reminded to continue small acts of kindness, bigger ones when and where I can. To believe that most humans are intrinsically good and act accordingly. To honour all levels of suffering, to listen, offer courage and support.
 
In this way, imagine what we can accomplish together.