The Unequal Distribution of Wealth

"I stole daffodils! (And some hyacinth, too)." - C.B. on March 22, 2010

Day 48. Spring is in the air. Daffodils are blooming.

I guess most occupations elicit a stereotypical question or comment when people find out what you do for a living. For psychologists the loathsome question is, "So why would you want to sit around and listen to people's problems all day?" To which I reply, "Actually, I don't sit around listening to people's problems all day. I get to be with people while they search for solutions. If I wanted to listen to problems all day, I would work in the front office of a dental practice." Most of the time, this ends the conversation.

After I typed the title of today's blog, I was tempted to launch into a highly passionate, politicized, opinionated tirade about the topic. The unequal distribution of wealth on our planet is something that I can, indeed, become rather hyped up about. Instead, I'm sharing a moving story regarding a client I saw today.

My client is enduring the first turn of a calendar year following her beloved mother's death last September. Her mother lived in the country, and Spring was a special time they shared through gardening, their mutual love of flowers and color, and long, leisurely drives together on the country roads surrounding their small town. Grief work with clients can be intense, intimate, and unpredictable. It can also be quite beautiful.

My client wept through most of our session today as she attempted to get words to how profoundly she felt the loss of her mother during their first Spring apart. It is apparent that her mother was a remarkable woman: energetic, kind, giving, spirited, and social. My client shared a particularly poignant memory as she recalled her parents giving shelter to 25 elementary aged children when a school bus was trapped in a blizzard near their country home. Her mom was a storyteller - the verbal historian for many generations of my client's ancestors. Her stories dated back to the mid-1800's and were resplendent with rural Oklahoma history. My client has no children nor nieces or nephews with whom she can pass down this colorful family history. Her grief was multilayered: loss of her mother and the familial past; loss of an upcoming generation; the transition from being a "child" to becoming a member of the "eldest" generation of her remaining extended family.

My orientation to grief counseling is primarily to bear compassionate witness to a client's pain and loss. With this client, I remarked upon the depth of her attachment to her mother - both as a child and well into her adulthood. I acknowledged that the enormity of her grief told us a great deal about how deeply connected she was to her mother. We talked about grief being proportionate to the significance of the lost. I encouraged my client to keep sharing her memories; she continued to weep as she told me more about her mom. Their love for one another was extremely touching.

As the session wrapped around these shared memories, my client began to smile through her tears. She was speaking of the mutual admiration of fresh flowers she shared with her mother when she confessed, with a sheepish grin, "I stole daffodils." I grinned back, and said, "Tell me about it." My client responded with a detailed story about her flower theft. She said that for several days she had watched a patch of these cheerful yellow flowers growing prolifically outside the fence of a home in her neighborhood. She watched the house carefully, noting that a couple of college boys who were rarely home lived there. My client even mentioned that the flowers could not be seen from the house. Anticipating snow over the weekend, my client stopped at the home (when the boys weren't there!) and snipped off several of the daffodils. She noted that she chose them carefully, so it was very difficult to notice that any were missing. She then took the daffodils to the bed and breakfast she owns, artfully arranged them into several small bouquets, and distributed them among the bedrooms for her guests to enjoy. My client then added that she had also "snipped a few stems of hyacinth" to make the bouquets more fragrant.

As she told the story of the Great Daffodil Heist, my client's entire countenance changed. She clearly derived immense delight from sharing the flowers with her guests and imagining telling the story to her mother. I was struck by the seriousness with which she contemplated the moral dilemma posed by her flower theft. Maybe my ethical judgment needs tightening, but I had absolutely no problem with justifying in my moral consciousness the illicit acquisition of flowers that: a) were highly unlikely to have been noticed in the first place, much less missed and b) brought such pure pleasure to this woman during her time of grief. I communicated this sentiment to my client with the qualification that HER superego was the one that mattered. We smiled in agreement that perhaps this transgression would be considered a small one by most higher powers.

It is true that the riches of this world are not evenly distributed amongst us. It is also true that sometimes we can commit small acts of redistribution that carry potentially powerful consequences. I'm not altogether comfortable with unequivocally "robbing from the rich to give to the poor." But an occasional snagging of rogue blossoms for the sake of salving pain rests okay with me.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc