This quiet morning. My friend asleep in her bed, snuggled deep in a nest of pillows, her faithful terrier molded to the curve of her back. The gentle rise and fall of the covers, her breath coming slow and steady when I peek in to check on her.
Six a.m. My shift. The house is still but for the steady tick of the kitchen clock, empty but for the two of us. What twists and turns of fate have brought us to this moment? One woman engaged in the deep inner work of letting go of life. And the other, me, still here, striving to see this world as perfect, to love it as it is.
I pour coffee, slice a peach, and carry my breakfast to the back deck where the two of us have spent so many companionable, peaceful hours over the last year. The dark trees are still silhouetted against the sky. Clouds at the horizon melt to shades of rose. The sky lightens. In the new light, dragonflies stitch invisible seams through the morning. A blue heron wings by, heading from one secret pond to another.
My notebook is open before me, the lovely white page. I tip my full heart over and pour myself out. A list takes shape: all the hard, sad things. It doesn’t take long to write them down. Just putting words to these feelings brings a swift, unexpected relief, like setting down a bag full of rocks. Tears come. This, too, is a relief.
And then, as I read through my list, one thing is suddenly, startlingly clear. Most of the things on it are out of my control : my friend’s progressive, inevitable decline; the behavior of others; the chronic pain in my hips and lower back; the plight of Syrian refugees; the end of summer; a loved one’s harsh words; a lie I’ve been told and asked to believe; deepening wrinkles and upcoming surgeries and canceled plans.
For a while now I’ve been stuck in this place — waiting, fragile, hurting. Feeling as if my life is on hold until I’m no longer needed as a caregiver, or until I can walk and bend over without pain, or until a difficult relationship is resolved.
I’m wrong, of course.
I’m not waiting. I’m living.
And this moment is neither “good” nor “bad,” but simply life as it is, complex and messy and precious and beautiful: the immense mystery of a beloved’s slow dying, the tenderness she inspires in those at her side, my own body growing older, the first leaves changing color, a criticism that stings, someone else’s kind words, a ripe peach for breakfast, a blue heron in flight, a September day dawning.
On the wooden table where I sit, there is a tiny pile of stones. I pick them up and spread them out. Hearts.
And with that, I begin another list. Beautiful things. I need only look up to see them.
And I need only awaken to the vast, varied territory of my life in this moment to feel grateful for all I have, for all that is. I easily fill a page and then another; there is no end to these riches. Soon my heart feels full once again, but in a different way now. No longer heavy, but spacious. Buoyant, even.
Perhaps this is the invisible gift offered us if we are blessed to accompany another through the final days of their journey: an invitation to go deep and to feel everything. For surely we can trust that life will offer us great joy and great sorrow, and that we are here to know both intimately, even as we grow ever more attuned to the small, daily, simple things like breathing and walking and whispering and hugging.
Paying attention changes everything. Gratitude multiplies and transforms a day, a life, the world. Choosing to see beauty creates more beauty. Nothing is on hold. Nothing lasts. Nothing is wasted. And so, this really is it: the mystery, the miracle, the pain, the joy, the whole human catastrophe. And we get to be here, now.
That, surely, is a beautiful thing.
And so, I find myself drawn to the idea of beauty as a daily practice, a slight variation on the gratitude journal I’ve kept on and off for years. I wonder what will happen if I continue to begin every day by noticing and writing down a short list of beautiful things? And I wonder what’s on your list of beautiful things, right this minute? I’d love to know.
All that matters is what you love
and what you love is who you are
and who you are is where you are
and where you are is where you will be
when death takes you across the river.
You can’t avoid the journey but
you can wake up… now
and see where you’ve been
and where you are going.
– John Squadra, from “Circle Of The One,” in This Ecstasy
(With thanks to Rod MacIver for sharing this poem on A Pause for Beauty.)
Oh, wow. I’m crying as I read this. An invitation to feel it all. Your words, too, are that, for me and chief on my list of beautiful things right this moment is your writing and the immense blessing of your friendship. I love this practice. So, today, in addition to YOU, I would cite the cooler air today, the raindrops, that my children are safe and sound at school, that I am healthy this hour, that I have work and challenge and love. The green tree out my window, the blinking cursor, the Wendell Berry poem on the board in front of my face. Yes. All of it. xoxox
Stunning. I held my breath until the end of your words, and everything felt richer and more right with the world when I let it out. The beauty is thick around us, but we have to help each other daily to see it, don’t we? My list is long like yours. So much good work I cannot say yes to it all. Three growing children in a safe, warm house. A beloved companion to slip into bed with at the end of each day. The phone book full of family and friends who respond when I call. But perhaps today I am most grateful for the vision – whatever mystery it is that helps me be a writer and a believer in this world – and for those kindred spirits who share this vision. (Which delightfully includes both your work and Lindsey’s, whose comment is here, too.) Thank you for this gift on a day that needs holy words.
You are a blessing to so many..and on this day to me….thanx
Katrina, Beautiful words, wonderfully written and as always, getting at what matters and resonating with so many of us. Thank you for sharing your wisdom with the rest of us.
Beautiful things right now:
Your writing
The feel of fall after last nights rain.
The peach tea that i am drinking.
A tiny but beautiful painting of flowers in front of me.
A glimpse of joy along side all the stressors.
The beauty I see would include –the brisk morning that beckoned me to be fully alert and alive today, the fresh peaches, carved roughly with a bit of honey and cream, the sound of my feet along a trail, the tears of my daughter who surrenders her love of running for a time so that she can heal, and our cat who is sleeping sprawled out across our couch, as if all is right with the world, and your words, Katrina. Your writing is beautiful.
Katrina, thank you for your gift of words. Of insight. Of gentleness. Of acceptance. They are food for hungry souls, water to those who have been parched for a long time. I have been in your place, that place of profound sadness and profound awareness. I wonder, sometimes, if the price for love is loss, to know both deeply so that when the tide of life changes, as it always does, we will remember and cherish. It seems to exact a high price, but the best things always do. May you and those you love find peace in these shortening days of summer, these mornings where the trees appear covered in honey, about to turn into the most glorious of seasons.
Thank you for your beautiful words and the reminder to look for beauty even (or especially) in the hardest of times! Today, you have given me a greater appreciation of my gentle Golden puppy, the warmth of a sunny day, the unexplored trail in the woods, the power of words and the constant love and support of friends and family. We are all blessed!
You capture so well the push/pull between grief and joy, simplicity and complexity, beauty and harsh reality. I always feel better after reading your words. Beautiful things: cool morning walks with my enthusiastic little dog, my almost 10-year old daughter, who will still hold my hand as we walk to the car after school, my teenager who still wants to hug me good night, the last hurrah of sweet corn, the first tips of red blooming on tree leaves. Much love to you, my friend.
Katrina, Thank you for honoring these sacred beautiful moments. Sharing the in between spaces of what it means to be alive, to feel everything deeply, to pay attention, choosing to notice the beautiful things. Thanks to your readers for these lovely comments too. I am resting after a long night shift at work, where I cared for strangers in various states of sickness, those in the work of letting go of life. Grateful for my home, the warm, long, hugs from my sweet boys, a morning kiss from my hard working husband, and my one day off.
“Our heart always transcends us.” R.M. Rilke
Katrina,
All I know is that your words fill and I am always grateful for having read them. I hope to one day hold in my hand a book of all these beautiful posts of yours! I wish you strength and peace each day of journey. May there be better days ahead for you….ones of true joy, good health, and everything that means the most to you.
I always am amazed at your timing. You seem to appear when I need to be aware and think those “grateful” thoughts. This past Tuesday, I had my knee replaced. I’ve had both hips and the other knee done in the past three to fourteen years. This time I knew I could not wait another day. Each time, it takes some planning, cooperation from family members and the fortitude to put myself first for a change.I am thankful to have a wonderful and caring spouse who has spent every evening he can at the Rehab Center with me, children who call or stop by to visit when they can, brothers and sister-in-laws who text to keep in touch and not just because I’m their only sister, and wonderful friends who care enough to send a funny message or a joke or stop by to bring food. The food is awful here. The therapy is most important to get me up and moving again, so I can again feel I am part of the moving circle of life. I have three weddings to look forward to in the Spring. My husband and I will be visiting my son in his new apartment in Boston for Thanksgiving. There are so many positives to look forward to. The pain is over. The work begins to get myself back to the business of walking. Walking is something we rarely seem to appreciate but it such a marvelous thing in our lives. Seeing is another issue I continuosly deal with. We need to be thankful for those things which we have. Not everyone is as fortunate.
Thanks for sharing. Your words bring me back to the last days I spent with my mom as she battled ovarian cancer this time of year, nine years ago. But I’m encouarged to remember the sweet, the silly, the poignant moments amidst the grief over knowing she probably would not be here the next time I returned to SC.
Thank you Katrina for this lovely post. Indeed we must enjoy and celebrate each and every day. There is wonder all around.
Enjoyed today’s posting helping me to visualize putting words on a blank page quiet supper beside a river’s sound of water cascading by the trees with green leaves with candle light shining though conversation’s amongst the patron’s a night to remember.
What is beautiful to me right now is the cool air through the open window next to my chair where I sit reading in the morning. I hear the world waking up as runner’s shoes slap by and birds twitter in the lilac bush. Beauty is in my dog’s eyes as he communicates his love for me, the woman who rescued him. Beauty is, just now, the scent of the first autumn evening fire. It reminds me that the wheel turns and life moves forward, for better or worse.
I almost forgot! Beauty is my cousin’s new granddaughter’s eyes, so clear and present.
What’s on my list of beautiful things, right this minute? This piece of writing – your most gorgeous words that seep into my soul, connecting pain and joy as one into the fabric of our lives. The smooth, velvety feel of joy and wellness along with the pulled, fuzz-balled and frayed look of pain and suffering – all entangled into one tapestry of richly lived lives. We must hold pain and joy together for that is the nature of humankind on this earth, the inherent condition of life.
Thank you for this masterpiece.
The ability to run a 10k across a bridge spanning the beautiful river on a beautiful morning, when I thought the gift of running was taken away from me, met a new friend who got me across it to boot!
The gift of my beautiful two year old granddaughter waiting for me when I got home.
The gift of cooler weather and changing leaves.
The gift of memories and wonderful parents and grandparents, all gone.
I remember now the river crossing in Siddhartha. He sees all the pain and suffering and love and joy in the faces in the river and knows that is life. There is a certain bittersweetness in that moment. The beauty of it makes me cry.
My gosh. I wish you were my neighbor so I could sit at your feet and absorb all of this wisdom you seem to possess so naturally. Time to blow the dust off of my gratitude journal, and begin each day with a clearer vision of all that is beautiful around me. Living in Paradise, CA makes it much easier, yet living in this world has distracted me from a clearer vision. Thank you Ms. K.
Gratitude has been my rope to cling to when I felt like everything was swirling away- that, and prayers for help. And beauty? Oh yes, all around. The beauty of my teenage sons face as he smiles at me on his way to school, the feel of my husbands hand in mine as he tries to battle chronic illness, the roses struggling to bloom and flourish in our California drought ridden garden, the love of my mother, the sparkle in my daughters eyes I see in a photo of her hiking with her man today. So much beauty. Thank you for the inspirAtion.
Katrina, your words are as luminous and alive as the end of summer itself. I too know his waiting place, being stuck with pain and difficulties. I so wish I could erase the pain in your hip and sadness in your heart. But even as you shoulder these burdens, you find the beauty and remind me of the grace in my own life – being able to watch the sun come up over the ocean with my dog beside me, all the stars at night, my childrens’ skin, the way they come to me first when they lose a tooth. It’s so easy to get mired in fear and loss. Thank you for pointing out the light.
“I am not waiting.I am living.”….Yes,thank you for reminding me of that.Sometimes it slips through my hands,and the present of the NOW seems too small and I wait for “more”….but there is so much already.Beauty this summer has been going to the same bay every day,with a good cappuccino,and marvelling at the ever-changing blues of Lake Michigan.Watching clouds.Raptors dancing in the wind.The sunsets so glorious.Having a walk in the woods with my 16 year old son and talking about life…and laughing together.And the strange beauty of all the emotions that surfaced when two girlfriends of mine died within 3 weeks and I had to face places inside me that I had not known before.All mosaic pieces of living and loving.
Sending you wishes for healing and a beautiful fall!
Thank you for your post. As always, your writing captures exactly where I am at the same moment in my life…maybe sllightly different challenges, but the same thoughts. I try to begin every day thinking about 5 things I am grateful for. But, now I will add to that noticiing and writing down a list of the beautiful things. Today….sunrise on a quite Sunday morning, crickets in the distance, a cool breeze flowing into my porch, the foam on my hot cup of latte, the smell of dawn, my ceramic birdhouse dangling in the pine tree, my end-of-season hydrangeas still hanging on to summer, the stlllness in the air….So these are the things I must remember as I meet the challenges of the day. Thank you, Katrina. May the things that are beautiful in your life, sustain you today.
Grateful for a rainy Sunday morning knowing that the next days will be sunny and warm. Feeling the pain of my daughter-in-law who lost her baby a few days ago and find it hard to celebrate her birthday today. Grateful I will be able to be there for her and my two beautiful grandsons to help her thru the day
The surprise sound of rain in the middle of the night, the autumnal shifting slant of light, sharing a birthday dinner with dear friends, feeling well in body as I begin my day, the loss of someone dear leavened by the love that abides and abides, finding meeting places like this one to share these strands of beauty with other souls. A reminder that we are at once alone and connected also by different strands. Thank you for creating one such place.
Grateful for your words. Thank you.
Your words always seem like a meditation and I can feel my breathing slowing down as I read. You have an uncanny way of putting into beautiful thoughts some of my rough thoughts. You always inspire me and remind me of what is important. Thank you for sharing your heart with us.
I am in awe of the very articulate writers who comment on your posts—- so much talent and so much feeling.
Thank you for this brilliant story, Katrina. On my beauty list now are meeting my friend’s departed mother through his words, the persistence of a sprig of thyme in a car of flowers, generosity from unexpected places after asking for help, the dog turning around in the middle of a walk to make sure of me, a cat sleeps next to me, and a light damp mist in place of a grand storm. I often mix recognition of beauty within a gratitude list and your words have given me new energy and awareness.
This — ‘ For surely we can trust that life will offer us great joy and great sorrow, and that we are here to know both intimately, even as we grow ever more attuned to the small, daily, simple things like breathing and walking and whispering and hugging.’ and this– ‘Paying attention changes everything. Gratitude multiplies and transforms a day, a life, the world.’ are in my mind as beautiful things right now. Thank you for the richness of these sentiments shared in such a lovely and poignant way. Out into the day, reminded and inspired to see the beauty, the richness, the love.
Early morning light, 2 doves on the bird feeder, my cat Pearl’s blue eyes, fresh flowers on the altar at church, tomatoes, a concert of Beethoven’s music, words that touch my heart.
Thought you might enjoy this Ted talk that recently came to my attention about palliative care and quality life through to the end.
http://www.ted.com/talks/bj_miller_what_really_matters_at_the_end_of_life
Hope it inspires you as it did me.
Enjoying the journey not just the destination is the key.
Blessings,
Kirsten
So much beauty surrounds us with sensual, satisfying regularity. May we all learn to open our ears, eyes, nose, and bring it all in:
my husband humming beside me as we work together in our office
my washing machine humming as it cleans my clothes
my toaster popping up fresh quinoa wheat toast
my granddaughter’s 7-year-old giggly laugh
the dreams that allow me into a different world every night
Katrina – as always, you have a magical way of taking a painful chapter of your own life and the ending chapter of a dear one’s life and making the words and emotions poetic. Daily I think of you and your friend and am grateful again for the ways in which you are loving and supporting her. What a gift you are giving – but I’m not sure whether she is receiving more or you are. Thank you for taking difficult things and finding the lessons and the beauty in them for yourself and all of us here.
I just came in from out back, it’s where I go when I need to find my way back to center. It doesn’t always work, but when it does, when the leaves in the trees that form a semi-circle around our house dance in the wind making what my heart believes is the sound of waves on the beach, I find center.
Today I tasted, but it wasn’t quite there, hasn’t been for a few days. Lindsey responded to my request, “What’s the best thing you’ve read online this week” with your post. Serendipity kisses as I read your bio and see you book, the book my agent told me to read, holding it up as a beautiful, enduring symbol of writing to aspire to.
This is beautiful, as I knew it would be from Lindsey’s words, but more so, it found its way inside me and brought me back to the rhythm of life, of knowing the sorrow and the wonder with equal intimacy. Wishing you warmth and easy movement in your hips and peace and light to your beloved.
Thank you.
I have been having the same feelings lately…stinging words from a close friend or two. And these are the words that come to me,” You is kind, You is smart, You is important! ” from The Help.
A man in a novel by Mary Stewart was told his fate by a seer. Desperate to avoid it, he asks her advice; she tells him: “Live what life brings. Die what death comes.” Sound advice, but we would be less than human if it came easily! Thank you for putting a bit of light on the path.
Katrina…just want to say that I am thinking of you and your dear friend, Lisa. Did I tell you that I briefly met her this summer as she went about her daily stroll? It was the beginning of summer and she was walking her dog. We chatted for a bit… she was just as you described her, charming in so many ways. Did I tell you that her garden was magical this summer, I always wanted to stop and ask her what her secret was. It positively glowed..like no other. I passed her a few times, tending to her garden, we waved and smiled, hers, the biggest and brightest smile. Knowing all that she was going through, I marvelled at her strength. I think I wrote you to say that the most glorious rainbow reached out and embraced the mountain one August morning…almost to her doorstep. There was no question in my mind that god’s hand was at work…I thought of her smiling, it was nice to know that someone else on the mountain might be enjoying it as much as I was. Before I left for Vietnam, I looked for her as I passed up and down the mountain but did not catch her again. I read your post and understood the silence. I am praying that the days that have followed since I Ieft have been comforting for Lisa, her family and friends. On my list of beautiful things…the memory of Lisa and her garden and that glorious smile along a mountainside where rainbows magically appeared and remained. Thinking of you both…xx
Katrina- your beautiful words touched my heart this morning. I reflected on my losing a dear friend, and extra ordinary artist last year and how calm she was as she accepted that these were her final days. How easy it was for her to accept the flowing of love from others to her and her to others. It hurt to say good-bye and yet she was so joyous in seeking to be in her Heavenly Home, it seemed to soothe my hurt.
Recently, I met a 97 year old, angel at the facility my mother now lives at. I asked this dear woman, who goes about singing whenever she chooses, “What would you offer those of us, that are younger, is the secret to a long life as yours.?” She answered, “Find something EVERY Day to be happy about…and read your Bible.” When you asked for our list of beautiful things…she tops my list. Followed by my faith, my family, my friends and my forever faithful Golden Retrievers, Abbey and Macy that cause me to start each day with unconditional love.
God bless you for your caregiving of your dear friend.
Kindly,
Sandi O
I think that the date of your entry is so ironic; September 11th. That date that has been etched forever in our minds ever since 2001. Even your beautiful pictures of early morning on such a stunningly beautiful September day are a reminder. And seeing the families who lost so much coping with their on-going grief is forever painful. How could such horror happen?
And yet, there is such poignancy in so many of the most challenging chapters that make up our lives….it is so comforting to know that others share these moments and that we are not alone. And it is so touchingly true that it is the everyday moments that make our lives so meaningful. Like you have said so eloquently, those ordinary moments that make up our days truly become those we remember most vividly.