empath (plural empaths) One who has the ability to sense emotions; someone who That’s what…That’s what…is empathic or practices empathy.

A definite over-simplification.

Until a few years ago, I thought I was just weird, out-of-step, too sensitive, even a little crazy. I wondered why seeing a dog run over, or a starving, homeless cat, meowing desperately for food, or just someone to care. Seeing people suffer through death of a loved one, job loss, feeding their children, natural disasters, would haunt me for days/weeks.

I wondered why being around certain people made me feel warm, safe, secure, while others left me cold and fearful. No reason. No event or definite signs. I just knew.

However, I know I’m not alone. We’re all hurting. The world is imploding before our very eyes; especially our country.

Remember when our biggest fear was tainted romaine lettuce?

Remember the uproar when Prince Harry and Meghan left England? What would they do? How would they live? Who would protect them and their sweet little boy?

Wildfires, tornadoes, major hurricanes, record-breaking floods? We’ve seen it all in the last couple of years.

Homicidal Hornets?

OMG! Are you freakin’ kidding me? What next?

Coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic

That’s what.

I have to admit, other than worrying about getting groceries and other necessities, this Empath/Introvert was pretty happy under the circumstances. No crowds to avoid. No large social gatherings to tolerate. No new people to meet, talk to, hide from.

Just me, Hubs, and our sweet furry daughter, Lucy. An occasional distanced conversation with neighbors and I was happy as a clam.

George Floyd.

That first time, I watched in horror. Policeman’s knee on his neck. Crowds gathered around imploring the cop to let him up. After all, he was handcuffed. I waited and waited; an interminable amount of time.

Let him up. He can’t breathe!

Any second now, they’d release him. Pull him to his feet. Put him in the police car and book him for whatever crime he allegedly committed. (Passing off a counterfeit 20 dollar bill)

But, no. The pressure wasn’t released. With every plea from George Floyd’s mouth, the knee seemed to shove down with more and more persistence. Until it was clear, the man on the ground would no longer be capable of standing, talking, breathing.

The Minneapolis authorities; DA, investigators, police, dragged their feet. A full review of the video would be needed before charges were made or dismissed.

Protests began. Peace during the day. All hell broke loose at night.

Killer romaine. Killer hornets. Killer virus. Killer…fill in the blank.

I can’t sleep at night. I try to distance myself from news during the day as much as possible. Staying informed, yet attempting to stay sane. To say all this hits me like a ton of bricks, is an understatement. I feel the pain and weight of the world.

Empath.

And, I’m not even Black. I put myself in the place of a Black mother, wife, grandmother. How would I ever sleep wondering if my child, husband, or grandson would come home that night? Would I be comfortable EVER letting him out of my sight?

I think not.

Black Lives Matter. Period