Just Listen

Just Listen

I suspect that the most basic and powerful way to connect to another person is to listen. Just listen. Perhaps the most important thing we ever give each other is our attention. And especially if it/'s given from the heart. When people are talking, there/'s no need to do anything but receive them. Just take them in. Listen to what they/'re saying. Care about it. Most times caring about it is even more important than understanding it. Most of us don/'t value ourselves or our love enough to know this. It has taken me along time to believe in the power of simple saying, "I/'m so sorry," when someone is in pain. And meaning it. One of my patients told me that when she tried to tell her story people often interrupted to tell her that they once had something just like that happen to them. Then her pain became a story about themselves. Eventually she stopped talking to most people. It was just too lonely. We connect through listening. When we interrupt what someone is saying to let them know that we understand, we move the focus of attention to ourselves. When we listen, they know we care. Many people with cancer can talk about the relief ,of having someone just listen. I have even learned to respond to someone crying by just listening. In the  old days I used to reach for until I realized that passing a person a tissue may be just another way to shut them down, to take them out of their experience of sadness and grief. Now I just listen. When they have cried all they need to cry, they find me there with them. This simple thing has not been that easy to learn. It certainly went against everything I had been taught since I was very . I thought people listened only because they were too timid to speak or did not know the answer. A loving silence often has far more power to heal and to connect than the most well intentioned words.

When I was a puppy I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You  called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you/'d shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?"-but then you/'d relent, and roll me over for a belly rub.My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I  remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with gleeat your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a "dog person"-still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happyThen the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love." As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch-because your touch was now so infrequent-and I would have defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. 　

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