sometimes you just can't help it

I have heard stories that my grandpa would forbid his children to cough. He was an incredible man in so many ways, but he had a hard time tolerating improper, unruly or, dare I say, pedestrian behavior. Have a bad cold? Control it, or at least be discrete about it.

My sister Liz will tell you that I have that man's blood running through my veins. Years ago the two of us backpacked through Italy and Liz contracted a nasty cold. The poor thing did her best to participate as fully as possible during the day, which probably is what intensified her coughing at night. I tried to be sympathetic, but packed in our economy rooms, beds inches apart most nights, I didn't do a good job of it. I didn't understand why she couldn't control the coughing. It sounded excessive and so incredibly loud. We were losing sleep and our neighbors were surely cursing us. More than once I remember telling Liz in the middle of the night that she should go in the bathroom and steam her head, not because I was looking out for her but because I might be able to finally fall asleep.

About the same time Liz got well, which coincided nicely with our departure, I caught the cold. I remember so well the little room in Milan our last night in Italy where I sat coughing my head off. No matter how I tried, I just could not stop. That night, Liz had every right to say, "I told you so," but she didn't. Instead, she went out and found me chamomile tea with honey and sat and rubbed my back. She never once gave an exasperated sigh or told me to go steam my head. She had been there. She knew.

This week that same cough came back. And all week I have been thinking about my little sister and how generous and kind she was to me in Italy. It is a good reminder of how struggling through something yourself is one of the only ways to have real compassion for someone experiencing that same pain. I think that is part of the bright side. Thank you, Liz, for showing it to me. Now, excuse me while I go and steam my head.