A big, tough-looking man wearing a tank top and baseball cap took hold of the door at the Circle K that my shorter-than-he-ever-used-to-be husband was trying to push open.
The man stood aside, gesturing with a chin up nod that my husband should go on through.
That night I was sitting on the edge of the bed in our bedroom, when my husband came in. I could tell from the expression on his face that something was wrong.
“The hardest thing about this Parkinson’s thing is the pity,” he said.
“What pity?”
“The pity people give me. I see it in their eyes. When somebody helps me with a door they have that look—the look of pity.”
Pity?
I had never seen pity in people’s eyes and told him that I thought maybe he was misunderstanding things.
Having always been a healthy, capable man—he’d never been in a position in which he needed help or one in which people could see that he needed it.
Maybe he was misreading the look in people’s eyes. Maybe he was confusing pity with love.
Not the kind of love that people who know each other give each other, not the kind with roles, expectations, attachments and stories attached, but the kind that strangers give to each other—the free, no strings, brief, but-nonetheless-love, kind of love.
The kind of love called kindness.
I suggested that he might consider that he was the one that turning all that kindness pity, because he was the one who was seeing it that way.
Slowly, in his soft Texas way of speaking, he retorted,
“If I look at it at it that way—why, I’d literally be surrounded by kindness.
It has always been my belief that if you offer people something tender and real, they will respond in kind—from their best selves. If they see that you are truly in need, they will give what they can and do what they can.
Over time, I saw that my husband—with his frailness and trembling—called forth this stranger-love, this “kindness” from many people.
Again and again, I saw waiters help him on with his jacket or hold a chair and wait until he got settled. I saw store clerks carry a single grocery bag out to the car and I saw massage therapists button his shirts for him while the next appointment waited.
Since we had that Circle K conversation on the edge of the bed about kindness versus pity—I saw how my husband had changed.
Since he had let people respond to him from their best selves. I saw him accept kindness.
I thought that as he allowed others to help him—allowed the neighbor to bring in the trash cans, allowed the bus driver to count out his change for him, allowed somebody else to cut up the wood we needed for the fireplace that winter—it quite possibly helped them as well.
Certainly I saw my husband’s change in attitude about such a simple thing as someone holding the door to the Circle K open for him, change the very world he lived in.
When he let it happen—when he didn’t see pity but saw kindness instead—everywhere he went, he was surrounded by it.
In fact, when each of us allows ourselves to see it that way, so are we all living in a world surrounded by kindness.
(This article originally appeared in a different form under a different title in ElephantJournal.com)
Author Bio: Carmelene Melanie Siani
Carmelene writes stories from every day life and how life itself offers lessons to help us grow, expand, and put our feet on higher ground.
https://www.facebook.co/StoryBelly/
Kindness Blog 
Giving others the gift of the opportunity to be kind is a great kindness.
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Thank you Bobcabkings! Well said!
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Lovely reminder of how our world changes when we change our perception of it. Thank you!
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As they say — it’s all perception. So true, isn’t it? Thank you for taking the time to comment Donna Cameron.
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I love this piece! So true.
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Thank you Jennifer! I appreciate your comments!
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This brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing this story. I’m going to re-blog it because I think the world needs to hear this message, maybe now more than ever. It’s interesting how you can look at things one way and respond one way and then when you re-frame that thought into a more positive one, you respond more positively.
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Reblogged this on Wanda Luthman's Books and commented:
This is such a powerful story of re-framing one negative thought into a positive one and how that made all the difference.
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Yes, Wanda! We really do create our own realities! Change our thoughts and we can change our world. Thank you so much for reblogging. An honor I am sure. xoxoxo
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It is an honor to share your post. It’s a great message. Thank you!
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I understand his feelings due to the muscle disease I have yet I love the change from pity to kindness and how that perspective can be very uplifting
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So glad this piece spoke to you Bethany. Thank you for taking the time to comment. Be well! xoxoxo
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Love this!
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Thank you Jennifer. So glad you loved it! xoxoxo
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Reblogged this on A Grateful Man and commented:
May we all choose to look at the world with such open and loving hearts so we too can be surrounded by kindness.
With Love,
Russ
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Thank you ever so much for re-blogging Russ. I am honored.
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Kindness doesn’t cost us much but can be very powerful. I was moved while reading this particularly as my father has Parkinson’s.
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Oh, Debbie. Parkinson’s is so hard. So hard. Thank you for sharing.
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Thank you for your lovely post.
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YOu are welcome Debbie H. Thank you for commenting.
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Fantastic post. ❤ ❤ ❤
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Thank you for your comment — I appreciate you stopping by to share your thoughts!
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My husband and I try to live by this rule: We don’t want anyone to be mistreated, therefore we must try our best to be kind, to go a little farther than is expected and above all try to do it without drawing undue attention to ourselves. I love this blog! It inspires me every time I read it!
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What a fine way to live Camellia — and how blessed you are to have a marriage which has adopted this way of life. Thank you for your comments. I am so proud to be a regular contributor to the Kindness Blog.
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I always prefer to replace the word ‘pity’ with ‘compassion’. It is a hugely more positive term.
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I agree Mick. I wonder what the original meaning for “pity” was — I seem to remember it didn’t originally have the negative connotation it has today. In any case, I entirely agree with your thoughts. Thanks for commenting.
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I think it was originally from ‘pious’, so presumably it meant something along the lines of sympathy or understanding. Perhaps.
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Yes.I think you are right. Thanks!
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Thank you for sharing this post. As a mum of a daughter with special needs, I used to worry if people’s reactions to her may turn from kindness into pity as she grows up. I worry about that less now. There are lots of kind people out there. I now feel like she is like a litmus test: you can tell a lot about a person in how they react to my daughter. Those that slow down, take time and care to listen, those are the people I want to spend time with. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of their face as we say goodbye and walk away – they are almost always smiling. Love Jane xx
https://anunexpectedjourneytoadoption.wordpress.com/
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