Fear & Compassion

They say the best way to get over something that scares you is to talk about it.

 

Or write about it.

 

So, maybe this week’s little story will be therapy. Or maybe not.

 

I hope to never find out.

 

When I was a small child, I got locked in a closet. I think I was actually locked in the closet by my older brother but that remains unproven to this day.

 

It was small and it was very dark.

 

I kicked at the door and I screamed and begged someone to let me out of the closet, but nobody heard me. Or maybe they did and just thought that I needed a little ‘time out.’

 

That’s when I developed a severe case of claustrophobia.

 

I don’t know if there are different levels of claustrophobia but if there was a scale of 1-10, I would be a solid 9.

 

Or maybe a 9.5.

 

After I got out of that closet, I vowed to never go back into a confined space again. Ever.

 

But alas, life has a way of changing your plans.

 

In high school, we used to sneak into the drive-in movie theater (yeah, I am that old!) by hiding in the trunk of one of my buddy’s car.

 

That wasn’t as bad as being locked in closet because there were other people locked up in that trunk with me. But it was still bad.

 

I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to be the kid who was too much of a sissy to get inside the trunk.

 

A few years later, I had to have an MRI. I had no idea what that involved but when I went to the hospital and I saw that tiny little tube they wanted to stick me into, all I could think about was that little dark closet from my childhood.

 

They had to sedate me in order to get me to go into that MRI machine. And even then, it took all of my will to keep from having a complete mental breakdown.

 

There have been other times when I was in tight spaces.

 

The time we went to the Florida Caverns. Or when we went into the caverns at Ruby Falls and those fools turned off the lights.

 

I nearly lost it then but managed to keep from screaming so I wouldn’t scare my kids. Nobody needs to see their daddy crying like a little girl when the lights come back on.

 

I also have had to go into the crawl space under my house a few times. That combines both tight spaces and the knowledge that there is an entire two-story house a few inches above you that could come crashing down at any moment, entombing you in a pile of rubble where you would slowly die of starvation.

 

Even while I’m down there crawling around, I know that is an irrational fear but it is basically all I can think about.

 

Needless to say, my biggest fear in life is being confined in a small, dark space and not being able to escape.

 

I have nightmares about it.

 

So, when the news hit this week that a submersible submarine diving down to the wrecking of the Titanic had been lost and was likely sitting under 13,000 feet of water on the bottom of the ocean, I felt the same cold feeling I had as a child when I got locked in that closet.

 

Several days later, we were told that the little sub had more than likely imploded shortly after being launched, killing everyone on board.

 

Until we learned this, everyone assumed the passengers in the sub we trapped, helpless and waiting for a rescue.

 

So, over four days, I watched the constant news stories and imagined what it might have been like for those five unfortunate souls.

 

The little Titan submersible was about the size of a small car. There were no seats. No heater. There was a bucket in the corner if you had to go to the bathroom.

 

And, the most frightening part of all- if they lost power to drive the sub, it also most likely meant there were no electricity for things like lights.

 

Imagine being in a metal tube with no lights as it starts to sink.

After they passed 3280 feet, they would have entered what is called the aphotic zone. That is the point at which sunlight can no longer penetrate the water and it is dark.

 

Not the kind of dark you see when you step out on your back porch at night.

 

No, this is a whole different kind of dark.

 

This dark is absolute.

 

It is as if you took a spoon and dug out your eyes. That kind of dark.

 

And they still had nearly 10,000 more feet until they hit the bottom.

 

So, the five people in the Titan submersible would have just sat and waited for a rescue. One that would never come.

 

When I saw this on the news, I imagined what I would have felt if I were in that sub.

 

Well, first of all, I would have never been in that sub. It costs $250,000 for a ticket. That’s about $249,950 over my budget.

 

Second, refer to the previous paragraphs. Locked inside a metal tube that travels 2.5 miles under the ocean?

 

Nope. And nope.

 

CNN had a lineup of so-called experts who came on TV and explained the psychology effects of being isolated in the sub.

 

I’m not sure what kind of messed up schools gave these people degrees because they were assuring the news anchors that everyone would be just fine. The owners of the company has been trained for these exact scenarios.

 

Yeah, right.

 

I’m pretty sure that when the power went out and the sub started to nose dive down into the dark, all that training went right out the window.

 

Except nothing could go out the window because the five people in that little sub were bolted inside and even if they made it back to the surface, they would not be able to open the hatch from the inside.

 

When that sub hit the ocean floor with a dull thud and there was nothing but silence and darkness, things got real, real fast.

 

But it wasn’t over.

 

They would then have four days worth of oxygen. Four days to sit in the total darkness, shivering and praying that someone would find them.

 

A father and son were in the trip together and I imagined them huddled together, waiting to die.

 

In utter darkness.

 

Just thinking about all of this made me very anxious. It was like my closet story taken to a new bone-crunching level of terror.

 

But what really dismayed me was some of the comments that I read online about the tragedy.

 

There were people – people that I know- who posted horrible comments about how the folks on that little sub got what they deserved. They were rich, and that sin alone was cause enough for them to die.

 

Making fun of people’s misery. How disgusting is that?

 

I wonder if these same people made jokes about the poor folks who were trapped under the wreckage of the World Trade Center towers.

 

Or the children who were buried in the rubble is the Alfred P. Murrah building, crying for their mothers as they slowly died waiting for someone to dig them out.

 

Were the people on the Titan sub less worthy of sympathy and compassion just because they were rich? Were their lives somehow diminished because they had more money in their bank account than the rest of us?

 

Would these same people have stood outside of that closet when I was a small child and laughed as I screamed for someone to let me out?

 

Terror does not check people’s pay stubs. It comes for us all, equally.

 

It is a horrible tragedy that these people died. But is also a horrible tragedy that this incident revealed the true character of some people.

 

Being locked in that little closet when I was a child began my lifelong battle with the terror of claustrophobia.

 

It’s something I have no control over.

 

What I do have control over is my ability to show love and mercy for people.

 

Poor people. People who don’t look like me. People who don’t love like me.

 

And people who are far richer than me.

 

May they rest in peace. And may we learn a lesson from this tragedy.

 

Everyone deserves to be treated with compassion no matter who they are.

 

Even wealthy strangers.