In the fall of 2014, I was just on my way back from work. I turned the radio off. I was just enjoying a quiet moment before arriving home. My phone rang. I looked over at the caller ID and realized it was an international call… a call from Ghana. Initially, I didn’t want to pick it up. I was just exhausted from a long day of work. Moreover, I was driving. After the third time, I answered the phone. It was my sister, Alberta. Rarely do I get a call from her, especially that late. I whispered to myself, it must be something important. It was close to mid-night in Ghana and usually most people are asleep. She said, in a faint voice, that she had been hospitalized for several days. I pulled off the highway to chat with her.
Alberta wasn’t herself. She seemed nostalgic and short of breath. I, just like any other true sibling, became more worried about what happened to her. My first instinct was to find out what got her into the hospital. I asked, “What happened?”. She took a deep breath and said, “before I even say anything, I owe you an apology, Dotse. We owe you an apology”. she owes me an apology, I said to myself. Why would she owe me anything? I haven’t even talked to her for months. I remained quiet. She continued, “Well, let me tell you what got me into the hospital.”
She said she was rushing through the city to buy a few things for another sick sister. Then, she missed a step and fell into an opening in the pavement and hit her face right on the edge of the sidewalk. She immediately blacked out and loss consciousness. She split her front tooth right away. She was rushed to the hospital. When she gained consciousness, she was being brought to the hospital by good Samaritans. The pain she felt that day was nothing she ever had experienced in her life. Her clothes were soaked from more blood gushing out of her mouth. She was taken to the emergency room where she received some needed attention. I felt awfully sad about her situation. But deep down, I could relate.
I will never forget the summer of 1986. will be the year I will never forget. I turned 9-year-old and it was the last day of third grade. The end of the school year. The last day of school was usually the best day ever. Most kids look forward to it. We got to enjoy a well deserve cooked meal. We also got to play all day with our peers until school was over. It was just the best time to be at school. I was looking forward to it.
Mother made my favorite rice and chicken stew for my younger brother and I. We took the food to school. During our lunch break, we went to a hide-out location next to the school building to eat our food. While eating, a fifth-grade boy approached us. He tried dipping his hands into our food. We pushed him away and asked him to stop. He ignored us and kept dipping his hands in our food. He took a bite. As we tried fighting him off, he grabbed me and tossed me on the floor. My face landed on the edge of the concrete floor and my tooth got chipped. The pain I felt at that moment was nothing I had ever felt before. Blood was gushing from my whole mouth.
I cried my way to the administration office to report the incident. I was taken to the school nurse’s office and she temporarily stopped the bleeding. She recommended I see a dentist right away. I got home early that day, sobbing as I informed my parents about this event.
They were going through some financial challenges themselves. They decided to try some traditional ways to address my tooth pain. My siblings were awful. They poked fun at me and called me names. I remembered that for days, I was in pain. There were mornings when I woke up just sobbing because I couldn’t bear the pain any longer. It took a few months before my parents ended up rushing me to the hospital to get some dental help.
I could relate to my sister’s situation. I could relate to her pain. “You were right about the pain you felt when we were young,” she said. “We were very awful towards you.” “I am very sorry we treated you that way.” she added. She felt the same way I felt. She said, “Of all the people I talked to, but not a single person could relate to the pain I feel now.” She finally asked me, “How did you survived it?”. I said that I learned to deal with pain better. Most importantly, I learned that not everyone can relate to every situation that happens to us.
We all have painful events that occurred or occur in our lives that not everyone can relate to; not even our spouse, boyfriend, girlfriend, sisters, brothers, best friends, and or close relatives. No one can relate. Who knows how these events happened to us but not someone else. For all kinds of reasons, we would never understand. I am a believer that nothing happens in our lives for no reason. I believe painful events are there to steer us into growth. One of my closest friends says it best, “Struggles are bridges toward growth”. All of sudden, because my sister went through similar situation, she can now relate to my pain.
Not Everyone Can Relate to Your Pain