“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.” ~ Meister Eckhart
If you had visited my friend Lisa last week, the first thing you would have seen upon entering her living room is a large bright mobile hanging near the window – a thousand and one paper cranes strung on thread and suspended from a curved branch.
The cranes were created over the last couple of months by visitors to the Hilltop Café, a small coffeehouse at the farm up the road from the Pine Hill School, where Lisa has been a beloved kindergarten teacher for many years. Anyone who came into the cafe this winter to eat or grab a coffee to go was invited to pause for a few moments to craft an origami crane and send healing thoughts Lisa’s way. The result: the beautiful wall hanging in her living room. Love made visible.
The phrase “it takes a village” comes to my mind many times a day lately, for that’s what we have here, a village of caring friends and thoughtful strangers who show up in all sorts of ways, and who do what they do in a spirit of love. There have been months of beautiful dinners, massages, flowers, stories written and pictures painted and cards sent; donations large and small from across the land; photos and memories shared, housecleaning, rides given, family and friends arriving to brighten the days. An abundance of much-needed, much-appreciated assistance, care, and concern.
No one can change Lisa’s diagnosis. And there’s no denying the challenges she faces each day: pills to take and transfusions to endure and a new port to contend with. There are side effects to every medication. There is the unknowable future. There is no cure. But there is always healing, and healing is what she’s choosing to focus on. There is also the beauty of the present moment. I think of it as a bubble of grace, this sacred territory in which goodness and gratitude co-exist with illness.
Some day, I know I’ll look back on these winter days and the hours I’m privileged to spend with my dear friend. And the prayer I’ll say then is the same one I’m saying now: “Thank you.” I’ll remember the record-breaking snows of 2015, the frigid cold, the racing start I need in order to get my car up the steep, icy hill to her house, and also the warmth that envelops me as soon as I walk through the door. I’ll remember the hours we’ve spent on the couch, talking about everything. I’ll remember fires in the fireplace and wedding plans (her son will be married next week, and Lisa will be there, having the first dance with her boy). I’ll remember reading Anne Lamott out loud and how we got laughing so hard tears came to our eyes. I’ll remember the two of us doing her PT exercises together on the bed. I’ll remember afternoon meds and Reiki and cups of turmeric-ginger tea. I’ll remember a flock of handmade paper cranes taking flight.
After a rough holiday season, Lisa’s medical team decided to try a new medication to reduce swelling from the tumor in her brain. She is one of the lucky ones: the drug has given her a window of feeling better – much better. It’s allowed her to take a short walk in the snow, to go downtown for lunch, to do some of the things that nausea and seizures and headaches have kept her from enjoying for months.
“I don’t know where my will has gone,” Lisa said many times through the fall, as the hours ticked by and she found herself too weak and too weary get up off the couch. Now, she’s making up for lost time. And what is she doing with this unexpected gift of energy? Writing thank you notes. Given a day, a moment, an opportunity to ask, “What now?” my friend is choosing to affirm the abundance in her life. She is choosing to say “thank you.”
And then, as more and more snow piled up outside last week, and as the temperatures hovered around zero, Lisa asked her husband to carry all their boxes of photos up from the basement. Grateful to be up and about at last, she embarked on an ambitious journey through the past.
When I arrived last Monday, every surface in the dining room was covered with pictures; there were more boxes on the floor, a new photo collage artfully arranged on the refrigerator door, an arrangement taking shape on the table of pictures to be hung on the wall going down the hallway.
So many memories! And such a reminder that life is long, full of twists and turns, love and loss, laughter and forgetting. Here was her husband Kerby, today a distinguished, white-haired eighth grade teacher; once, long ago, a seven-year-old boy in shorts and tap shoes, ready to twirl his somewhat heftier partner. Here, Lisa, a fresh-faced young mom with her three tow-headed little boys on a summer afternoon.
Here, her son Morgan in his senior year of college, just off the lacrosse field, grinning, his arm around his lovely girlfriend – a photo so full of life and energy that, thirteen years later, it’s still hard to fathom that this was to be his last day; or that after saying good-bye to his family that night, he would be brutally murdered while trying to help a young team mate who was being beaten up on a street near the Bates campus. Here, Lisa and her beloved horse Bentley, gone himself just three months ago, but a soul gift in that time of great sorrow, around whom Lisa began to construct another life, one that included a new home for her and Kerby, where she could ride and create her remarkable summer camps for children. Out of that deepest grief: more love.
Together, we began sorting the stray photos into envelopes: good times, boyhood, early days, cherished animal friends, married life, family. . . . We studied a photo of her on a long-ago beach, stunning in her bathing suit, legs long and lean, hair wind-whipped. Gorgeous. “There’s no going back there,” I said. “Not for any of us.” And we agreed: it’s ok. No one gets to go back. But we all have a choice about how we inhabit our now.
At one point Lisa looked up, turning to gaze out the window where the afternoon sun was turning the distant snow-covered mountains shades of rose and violet. “Even if I knew this was to be my last week,” she said, “I don’t think I’d want to be doing anything else.”
And in that moment, I looked at my friend with something that approached awe. She could have been regretting every single loss in her life, of which there have been many. Instead, she was choosing gratitude for all the good, for all the abundance, for all the love. What better way to pass a winter afternoon?
In the kitchen, there were enticing smells – dinner coming together. Risë, the nurse who arrives early each morning as Kerby leaves for work, was making pasta sauce.
For the last month, Risë has been living in the guest bedroom at our house and spending days with Lisa, doing whatever needs to be done — organizing her medications, driving her to doctor’s appointments, making sure there’s something good to eat on the table on the nights that friends don’t deliver meals to the door. (And, on the days when we’ve all been completely snowed in, Risë has organized the linen closets at our house; she’s made sourdough bread, folded laundry, chopped vegetables with me for soup.) Sometimes, I pause and wonder: how did we get so lucky? I find myself praying all the time these days. “Thank you.”
Gratitude turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, confusion into clarity…it makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.” ~ Melody Beattie
Lisa and I are both journal keepers. Lately we’ve been talking about putting all our diaries and random writings together and burning them, something we’ve both thought about for years but haven’t quite been able to do. And yet, the words written in our ratty old notebooks were never meant for others’ eyes. They were outpourings and rants, inner struggles brought to the page for resolution, private conversations with our most pathetic, angry, confused, uncertain selves. Sending them up in flames, we suspect, will be a kind of spiritual cleansing. She’s pretty much ready to go for it, and I’m pretty much ready to join her.
So, we’ve been envisioning a little ceremony — a few kind words of remembrance and a good strong fire. Lisa’s already started going through her writings. The other day, she told me there was one journal she’d found and decided to keep: the gratitude journal I’d encouraged her to start during a particularly dark time years ago.
“I found an entry in there about making Morgan dinner,” she said, “and how happy it made him. Reading that, I wasn’t sad. It made me happy to remember it.”
And with that, Lisa was inspired to begin another project: writing a new gratitude journal. She found a simple, red blank book and gave that one to Risë, suggesting she might wish to begin a gratitude journal of her own. (Later that night, I asked Risë if she’s ever had a cancer patient encourage her to keep a journal of each day’s blessings. She has not.)
I’ve got a new notebook, too. In it, I’m already praying. “Thank you.”
notes
*Heartfelt thanks and hugs through the ether to all of you, my dear readers, who have reached out to Lisa over these last months with notes and donations to our fundraiser. (Click on the link to learn more about Lisa’s journey.) Your kindness is extraordinary, and these gifts continue to help enormously.
*Congratulations to Jeanne M., winner of the vintage copy of The Shape of a Year by Jean Hersey. I know I’m not the only one who loved reading all the comments last week! What a book list you’ve generated. My next project: compile all those wonderful suggestions into a list that we can all refer to easily. Thank you so much for your suggestions — many old favorites here, and many more books I’m eager to search out.
Oh my goodness. I am reading all of this through tears, at the joy and sorrow in a life, and how the true miracle is that you both see through the curtains of daily life into the blessings. I am truly in awe of what you have created here, not just in words, but in actions. I am incredibly moved by you and Lisa. Thank you for sharing this. Your words have made me grateful for my own simple pleasures and life’s lessons.
Thank you Pam. With each passing year it seems the joy and the sorrow become more inextricably intertwined. What choice do we have but to accommodate both? And I’m so grateful we can continue to support each other as we rise to meet that challenge.
Your words transport me to my precious, few weeks caring for my mother before she passed. It was sacred time – something you capture perfectly in this post. Without any effort, what was important rose to the surface and manifested in our days. It was the most difficult and rewarding time of my life, and I have not one iota of regret for the time we spent just being in one another’s company. I wish you and Lisa many, many more moments like this and the blessed wisdom to recognize what a gift they are.
I love that observation, Joy, about how what matters rises to the surface — if we allow ourselves that “being” time. Yes, you capture it precisely.
Thank you for this beautiful story today…yes, simply thank you.
Thank you Carol. It was a gesture of gratitude to write it.
Thank you, Katrina. This is so lovely. I think about Lisa often, and I’m glad to hear that you are with her in the ways that you are. She is lucky to have you. Years ago, she told me about her gratitude journal. And so every night, before I go to sleep, I write down at least 3 things that I am grateful for. Some of my entries are profound and some are very mundane, but it helps me in so many ways to say “thank you.”
Elizabeth, I love knowing this! The ripples of friendship are magical. Lisa inspires me daily; I’m the lucky one.
Katrina, I echo Joy here – this is such a sacred time and by writing about it with simplicity and eloquence, you’ve shared that. The gratitude glows through every line. I wish continued healing for Lisa, you, and all those who love her and have been touched by her.
Thank you Betsy. Learning and praying with every step these days.
Thank you for sharing your most intimate relationships with us… your readership. It helps to know we’re not alone in our struggles to find peace with letting go. A couple of years ago, I made the decision to shred all my previous journals and re-gift them to the earth by stirring them into the dirt of my garden. At the time it was cathartic and then the reality of what I’d done set in. I would never have those pieces of me put back together again…that was a bitter pill to swallow. So, be gentle with yourself, kind friend. They’re pieces you may be willing to let go of now but they are still pieces of you, and in the end that’s all we’ll really ever have….just the pieces and the memories.
I can imagine this feeling so well, Chareen. It may be what’s held me back. Thank you for the warning and for sharing your experience.
This is beauty.
Thank you Beth.
this is an absolutely beautiful post, and you are an extraordinary friend to those in your life. Thank you for sharing so eloquently with all of us. This is what I choose to embrace, while the bitter cold rages outside, and news stories often highlight the worst sides of us. I want to turn to your words, your acts, and the fact that simple and kind gestures are our path to all that is good and right in this world. I need to take the time to remember this. And instead of feeling hurried, I am going to take more time and grace when making quiche for my in laws and get filled up by the act of grace, disguised in pie crust, that this attempt to feed them is…we all have this ability.
Yes, it is so true: simple and kind gestures are the path. And there is grace everywhere, even in pie crust, if we choose to see!
Your words were the first I read this morning, knowing from the first line what tender dear times you are going through. Your posts touched my heart, and many others as well, more than any other. My prayers and thoughts will be with you, Lisa, and her family. I too experienced those days with my dear sister. Thanks and gratitude for the memories I have with her are always in my heart. Such a beautiful post Katrina.
Linda, “tender” is just the right word. It speaks volumes. So glad my writing resonates. It goes both ways, always.
Katrina, may we all be as wonderfully kind to each other, as you are to your dear friend Lisa. We need to have more grace and say “thank you” more often, we need to pause and reflect on how many blessings we have. Thank you, Katrina for sharing your journey with us. You are a gift.
Kelly, I’m finding that making a habit of saying thank you makes it seem more and more natural. Such an experiment in choosing an attitude; but so worth it, too. Thank you for writing.
I am moved to tears reading this. How wonderful an experience for you, for Lisa, for your entire community. I have watched people become bitter under similar circumstances, and I had a close friend decide to shut out most of his friends in his last few months. How much better to approach an inevitable end with love and gratitude for everything you have had, and still have. Thank you so much for sharing this. I pray that I have the grace to embrace the hardships of my own life with such openness.
Gratitude can be a hard choice to make, but considering the alternative, I, too, aspire to the grace of being able to say thank you. Thank you for writing; I think we all inspire each other!
May God bless you as you bless this wonderful friend in her journey.You have touched my heart as I read the words you have shared.
Thank you Heidi. We are all fellow travelers — as I’m always reminded when I read comments left here. Blessings.
Your dear friend’s gratitude and appreciation for life brings me comfort. Thank you so much for sharing her story.
Thank you Jenn. She inspires me, too, daily.
Katrina,
Your words are so beautiful and true. Being grateful in all circumstances is key in our lives. Recently, I went through our bookcase and paused for the longest time flipping through your books. Beginning with Mittenstrings, your words have touched my heart deeply. I am grateful for you, and your gift of expression through your writings. May your moments with Lisa continue to be blessed greatly. Thank you for sharing your life in this way.
Thank you Kathy. As you can imagine, in the sharing I receive so much more than I give. This community of readers, for one!
as the dear friend of someone who, just this weekend, was found to have tumors in her brain (the ones in her lungs and her breast we have known about for a year and two years, respectively), i read this as instruction manual. i pray that i will be able to fill the nooks and crannies and hours of my dear friend’s days with the grace and the heart-spilling gratitude you’ve woven into lisa’s. may we all be surrounded, bathed in such love, as the hours of our life come into sharpest focus….
Oh Barbara, I love your phrase “nooks and crannies and hours.” Yes, that’s our simple yet sacred calling: to fill them with love.
Thank you for these words today. Final partings are ever in my life now a days. My cousin was buried last month after a short time seeking medical attention hoping to stop the spread of her cancer. Our family is adjusting to the deaths of so many of us. I had read Alice Hoffman’s story of SURVIVAL and sent it to my dying cousin. If she read it or was able to even think of her life ending, I will never know as she didn’t have time to call or write me but I know what I did to help her pass from this world. Indeed, I am most grateful that I can read and for many who write and inspire even me.
Oh, I love Alice Hoffman and will seek out this story, too. Yes, I’m sure you did just the right thing. Intuition in these moments is rarely wrong. Blessings to you.
You’ll find many ways to say I love you.
You’ll find many ways to understand what love is.
Many ways, many ways,
Many ways to say I love you.
~Fred Rogers
This tender, beautiful story is Love Made Visible, the loveliest of prayers, a healing balm for Lisa, for her family and friends. Bless you, dearest Katrina, for finding so many ways to say I love you.
I have a couple of offerings … from reading your conscious presence in the life of your friend and ours….
Any poem book by Mary Oliver..
and I give out these cards.. so I will send their message to you all
YOU ARE LOVED…
Beautiful! Thank you to you and Lisa for your amazing inspiration. I have a friend in her second year of cancer with a teenage daughter whom I visit and offer food, reiki and gentle yoga. I am looking forward to sharing a paper crane with her and a gratitude journal in honor of Lisa.
Oh, Katrina, I read this with an ache in my chest, something that holds both joy and heartbreak. Lisa sounds truly extraordinary. oxox
When my son was very ill in the hospital, when every day and night brought many opportunities to ask, to pray, “please,” I found myself starting each night with thanks, gratitude for some small kindness or beauty of that day. It felt easier then, than it does sometimes on the ordinary days, the ones when the challenges are getting dinner on the table on time and squabbling, cabin-fever tired children, though I can find gratitude in there too.
Thank-you, Katrina for sharing this extraordinary journey of love and grief. I am a journal keeper, too and have had the same thoughts as many have expressed.. Perhaps the journey is best recorded and forgotten; I am not sure yet. I do thank you for giving me perspective this week. I am approaching a milestone birthday Thursday and have been rather despondent…I am humbled with the idea that at least I have birthdays to which to look forward, how can I not say thank-you for that gift. Lisa is a wonderful person–how blessed we all are to share her remaining time through you. Thank-you again!
We recently welcomed our second child into the world. I’m re-reading (your wonderful!) ‘Mitten Strings for God’ to help sharpen my focus on what really matters. Thank you also for the reminder of a gratitude journal, I know how life enriching this simple practice is. This would likewise help highlight the beautiful moments sprinkled throughout the washing, cleaning, entertaining and feeding which is life with 2 children under 2.
Your simple reminders make a difference to my life, and for that I’m very grateful.
Katrina,
I can’t thank you enough for sharing all that you post. They are so special that I like to read them when I have time to really savor them but find those times are too far apart so am reading them when they come & will reread them when the “right” time presents itself.
I feel truly blessed & grateful to have both you & your Mom in my life.
Stay warm.
I love reading all the comments from others. I too read this one thru tears. If we live long enough we will all go thru much heartbreak. This world is wonderful and cruel at the same time. Especially now. I have a grandson in Iraq and I pray for him daily. I find great comfort reading others words. thank you Katrina for the chance to share so much comfort from others.
Katrina, I thank you so much for this touching post which gives me the feeling to stay in touch with Lisa all the way from Germany where I live. Our youngest son Jannis was in Lisa’s Kindergarden class in 2009/2010 when our family lived in NH for a few years. We have all loved Lisa so much and she has been our very favorite kindergaren teacher of all the teachers our four children have had over the years. Jannis still talks about playing at Dragon tree with her dog Quimby , who was an important and much loved member of the class! We are so sad to hear about her diagnosis and how her life has changed . And at the same time it fills us with awe and joy to hear how she is living so gracefully into every moment and inspiring others with her own gratefulness practice. She truly is an extraordinary women. We would love to create cranes for her at the Hilltop Cafe, but since this is too far away we ‘ll create our cranes through our thoughts and send them to her filled with lots of love and gratitude and joining this wonderful network of love, friendship and community . Thanks again for your moving words. Sending much love to you and Lisa.
Katrina, thank you for sharing your story. I love my friends to I would do I could too.
There is no turning back, memories sometimes are good therapy.
I love the cranes.
Keep doing your God given talents. A friend loveth at all times Proverbs 17:17
Sending blessings
Jan Schroeder
Mn