Small Books Big Lessons

I have several places I keep my “small books”; you know the little books about life.  On my desk within hand reach, there are books of daily prayers and meditations, life instruction books, and my Mark Nepo collection.  This shelf also holds my collection of Mitch Albom books.  My Tuesday with Morrie book was a gift one night in a hospital room where I was doing volunteer hospice work and reading to a very weak patient, “You take it Bill, I think I’m almost done here”.  That night I finished the book, writing notes on the pages as I do in books that have real meaning for my life.  Most mornings I read and find just what I need, like today.  Morrie tells Mitch, “I know you think this is about dying, but it’s like I keep telling you.  When you learn to die, you learn to live.”  Be open to life lessons today.  

Connecting+Caring=Healing

Find courage through others and learn how shared kindness and compassion strengthens.  As we stood in line together at radiation oncology, I learned they were driving 8 hours every Monday for her early appointments, and on Fridays drove back to share a weekend with their kids.  Her cancer recurrence was a huge shock.  Sitting in her wheelchair, she told me driving 16 hours every week and seeing their kids only on the weekends was a low cost to pay for the hope of more days with family.  We swapped stories about our families, then she left for her treatment, and after my treatment, I looked in all the waiting rooms, but they were gone.  Walking back to work, I realized the healing gift she’d given me, by simply connecting and caring.  Connect and care today, and heal!

Uncle Keith (1919-2015)

Last week my Uncle Keith passed.  My mother was the oldest in a family of three, and Keith was the middle child.  When my dad was fighting in Korea, we lived in a small apartment above the deli across the street from the furniture store Uncle Keith owned in Falls Creek PA, my POB.  Those early years of my life, Uncle Keith was my surrogate father, and that bond gave me pieces of who I am, I have treasured all my life.  When my dad returned from war, he moved us to the South telling everyone “I’ll never shovel snow again”, and for the rest of my life Uncle Keith and I shared only random moments during trips back to Falls Creek.

I loved riding up the hill on Uncle Keith’s tractor to pick apples, or hunting night crawlers with him just as the sun was coming up.  Last week I felt him let go of my hand as we walked by the railroad tracks, and heard his voice, “Billy, hear the train whistle?”, as he handed me a penny to place on the tracks.  I’ll miss you Uncle Keith, but you have left me more than just memories, you are a part of me, and I am a part of you passing life moments on forever… 

Radiation - Day One

It not one of those places you really want to revisit, so yesterday when I entered the back hallways of Radiation Oncology it felt just a little weird.  Almost exactly 8 years ago, (8/15/2007) I first sat in the same chairs and did the same wait. A lot had changed, but I found a real comfort in what had stayed the same.  The lead therapist introduced me to his team, and they showed me the control room and we laughed about the stuffed animals giving warmth to a room covered by computers and monitors.  The bell still hung in the hallway I will ring on August 25, once I have completed my 15 sessions. 

As we stepped into the treatment room, I saw the machine that will be my cancer-fighting warrior.  The next 30-minutes went quickly, “what music would you like to listen to, do you need a warm blanket?” and then I was dreaming.  Saturated with images of her smile, I lost myself in her warmth, courage, and vastness of her love.  “We” have only 14 more days of radiation!

Life as a Storm Surfer

The Emerald Coast stretches about 100 miles along the Gulf of Mexico and the state of Florida, and its name reflects the emerald-green waves rolling across white sandy beaches.  Almost 50 years ago in Destin, or was it Panama City, I was the lone surfer on a borrowed surfboard waiting in stormsurf of 5-10ft. waves for that perfect ride.  Several years before I had learned to surf when I worked on the waterfront at Camp Rio Vista in Kerrville, Texas, where we would spend many of our days off surfing the beaches around Port Aransas, Texas. 

As I sat in the middle of the board with my legs dangling in the water I saw the biggest fish I had ever seen inside the approaching swell.  Was it a dolphin or a shark, it happened so fast I wasn’t sure, so I lifted my feet out of the water, lay down on the board and paddled in.  The mother who was chaperoning the girls from the beach house where I’d borrowed the board had posted a girl on the beach to watch me surf.  I told her my story and we watched for signs of a shark or a dolphin pod, but in a little less than an hour I was back in the water waiting for that perfect ride, for I had been growing my life skills as a storm surfer.   

Today, I start radiation on my right 7^th rib, feeling the stormsurf building I have been readying myself for the challenges that come with such a ride.  As I paddled out through my morning prayers and meditation for this radiation ride, I found many friends paddling out with me, and turned to find more on the beach watching and waving.  I realized even storm surfers don’t do life alone, and that is what makes each ride so special.     

The Practice of Pause

Last night MaryBeth and I completed our plans for a California vacation split between Pacific Beach and Coronado.  There something about a beach vacation with its endless waves, hermit crabs, sea birds, and mesmerizing sunrises and sunsets that soothes our souls.  I have learned that beach vacations reframe my mindfulness as I practice life’s gentle honesty on beach walks where my sight, hearing, and sense of smell is sharpened and retuned.  On these vacations I relearn the practice of pause, or refraining from having to always fill up my life space with tasks, projects, and action.  In these moments of pause, I experience life’s spaciousness and reconnect with the “be” inside.  Relearn the practice of pause today and experience gentle honesty.   

Experienced Not Always Understood

It was a deep pain radiating from my gut, but I felt it the strongest around my heart.  Last week there were days I struggled to let it go, and after several sleepless nights, exhausted my body finally closed me out and I slept.  Nepo calls worry the mental echo of fear and as its reverberations get louder, we lose confidence in ourselves, in others, and the goodness of life. 

I woke refreshed, still facing the challenges that had exhausted me with worry, but renewed realizing how much joy I experience in ways I don’t always understand.  I sat on the bench in our small front garden, and as our cat Sun Dance brushed his tail along my calf, I felt a love I don’t always understand radiating joy deep within my heart.  Today, be open to the full experience of life, you don’t always have to understand.