A young father lay dying. Our sons, then in third grade together, had been playmates since kindergarten. When word came that Richard was ill, I’d brought soup to the door, then lemon cake. Such small gestures; just a way to say, “I am thinking of you.” One day I stayed on to chat with Richard in the quiet house, and later his wife Jane called and asked if perhaps I could come again.
So it was that in the midst of my busy life with two small children, I was invited to pause, and to draw close to death.
Richard’s decline was slow; there was time for the work of letting go. As the months went by, he moved from the sofa in the sun-drenched living room to the darkened bedroom upstairs; from recounting anecdotes of his childhood into a tape recorder for his boys to hear when he was gone, to listening while my friend Lisa and I took turns reading the “Tibetan Book of of Living and Dying” aloud at this bedside; from festive meals shared at the table to sips of coffee and bites of cake. There was nothing to do, day after day, but show up with an open heart. The lesson, I came to see, was all about being there — allowing, listening, learning to be less afraid of what might come and more accepting of things as they were.
“How are you doing?” I asked him once as the end drew near, not sure at all how to ask my real question: “How can anyone suffer so, and yet go on?”
I think often, still, of Richard’s answer: “As long as there is one good thing in every day,” he said, “life is worth living.”
One good thing.
Most days, I lose count by breakfast time.
So often I feel eerily as if you are writing and thinking on some variation of what is rambling around my personal heart at any given week, as if we run into each other in this collective space and can only marvel at the huge things that unite (and sometimes untie) us all.
Having brought soup and solace to a dying friend, but knowing that what we brought was woefully inadequate (and yet truly appreciated), I keep thinking of her spirit, so brilliant and so ahead of us all so much of the time (in death as well); I think of her also brilliant husband and their impossibly brilliant son, soldiering on together as the boy becomes a man becomes a college man…
All I know is that I’m halfway through breakfast and my "list" of gratitude hovered before me as my eyes opened and only grew longer with the simple morning moments and was furthered still with the words and spirit of you post.
Here’s to splendid days, to today and to the co-mingling of all that is here and all that is not.
I love this, of course, for the reminder about the small good things. But also, it makes me think of the various ways the world, the universe, God, whatever you believe in calls us to slow down and take notice. In this case it was the illness of a friend. The challenge, for me at least, is to slow down enough to be open to these callings.
There is no greater privilege in life than to be in the presence of the dying, for the dying are closer to life than most of us will ever be until we reach that stage ourselves. And I think Richard’s answer proves that very point. Why is it so hard to appreciate what we have until we face losing it? Richard was lucky to be accompanied on his journey by people who weren’t afraid to face death; there’s no greater gift you can give someone than your openness in this way.
I am a high school teacher and I participate in a program called "Capturing Kids Hearts" in my classroom. Each day we start our class with a few minutes of recounting "good things" that happen or are going to happen. It is a way to start the class on a positive note as well as a way for all of us to get to know one another. School starts next week and I am going to read your blog "one good thing" to my students. I know it will touch their hearts (high school seniors) and remind them how important it is for us to remember at least one good thing! Thank you for your story.
This is just what I've been thinking about over the last few days. I've been remembering to be grateful, so slow down and appreciate all of the small wonders that surround me.
I just discovered your blog, and I'm grateful for it. Your words have meant a lot to me (and are actually part of my blog header)! I look forward to reading more.
Best,
Kate
I just wanted to pop in and say that I finished your book (Mitten Strings) recently and I adored every page. It was completely inspiring and perfect. I can't say enough good things about it. I will be giving a copy to all of my friends as they start and expand their families. Thank you for such a beautiful picture of nurturing family life.
(So happy to have found your blog!)
I stumbled your way from Lindsey's blog, A Design So Vast, and am very grateful that I found your posts. They speak volumes to my life and my state of mind, just more eloquently than I am able right now. I am nearing my 24th wedding anniversary, rearing a teenage boy so like your 17 year old yogi, and pondering the meaning of the dailly beauty and sorrow I find myself amid each day. Thank you for the lovely words, and photos, and the hours of diversion, insight and reflection your blog will provide.
Mel