Last night I was startled by the police beating on my door. When I answered in my nightgown, I hope I startled them back.

In a confused tone, they asked if I were Carly. I politely said no and pointed across the hall. They thanked me, I shut my door, and they proceeded to beat on hers.

I couldn’t help but watch through the peep hole, trying to decide why I thought they were there, fearfully convinced I already knew. My heart pounded, and I said a little prayer. She opened the door immediately. They explained they were doing a wellness check and asked if they could come in. She allowed them, and I went back to my couch to drift back to sleep.

Several more trips up and down the stairs, it sounded like someone else was at my door. I opened it to find the paramedics. I knew what that meant. They were probably taking her. I was overcome with sadness but also thankfulness. My heart sank to my stomach. I was happy she answered, happy she’s still with us, and happy she’s getting some help.

I know that pain. That hopelessness. You’re convinced it’ll never end. You can’t see light at the end of the tunnel. You’re not even sure there is one. The valley is dark and deep. And you’re angry because no one will let you go. They can’t stop the suffering, and you think they want you to suffer because they want you to stay. Everyone seems selfish. Reality is foggy. The truth is in hiding. And you’ve had all you can handle.

And if you are lucky, someone checks on you. Someone makes that call. The police come. You get the help you need.

And eventually you come out of that valley. You learn to deal with life on its terms. You learn to love yourself the way you love everyone else. And you become thankful. Thankful you saw the day through. Thankful you kept pushing, even though you didn’t want to. And you find your world can be a beautiful place. And things do get better–better than you could ever imagine. Mindfulness becomes easier. So do thankfulness, mercy, and grace.

And you use your experiences to relate to others. Empathy becomes your friend. And when everyone else is judging them, you feel a deep sorrow–not only for she/he who suffers but also for those in judgment.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4.)

May the Good Lord keep us mindful of where we once were, see opportunities for compassion, and give us strength to see them through. And may God have mercy on us when we don’t. Amen.