They told me you just can’t predict what the triggers will be.
First weekend of November: at the theater, contentedly waiting in the buzzing capacity crowd for the play to begin, I was suddenly stricken by the sight of a play program advertisement for a gourmet cheese shop that my husband Jeff, now gone from us, wanted to patronize before what was to be his last Thanksgiving. Ever the gracious host, he wanted the best for our gathering. After the last treatment of his first 12 chemo cycles, we stopped in and spent a lovely hour there, tasting samples and chatting with the friendly staff, buying a few tidbits and promising to return the following week. We never did get back there.
In moving my suddenly, inexplicably tear-filled gaze away from the painful printed ad, my eyes were distracted by a gentle motion a few rows ahead. It was the hand of a woman, idly stroking her mate’s neck and shoulders, which were clad in a shirt just like one Jeff used to wear. Oh, it is ever thus! I cry over the strangest things, but the constant is the crying. My friends and family now are quite used to the sight and know it is fine to avert their eyes and continue the conversation, or give me a friendly squeeze, and it will be over soon enough, until next time. Someday these episodes will spread out, and fade, and then eventually will come the day we will say, boy, remember back when we used to cry over stuff like this!
I guess in my heart of hearts, I knew last Thanksgiving that he would not be here this year. I worked so very hard to make a lovely day for him and for all of us gathered together that day, and by all measures, succeeded in that effort. This year my girl Anna and I will drive over the river and through the woods to the welcoming home of the last remaining Flanagan, his sister Karen, who was with us the last week of Jeff’s life. I don’t know what I would have done, how we would have coped, without her here, and we are now as close as any friends or sisters could ever be. Indeed she and Anna and I did walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and we did come out the other side, and we will never be the same.
I have never been more grateful, more aware of every blessing and tiny scrap of kindness and grace, both accidental (perhaps a sunset or a flock of birds) and purposeful (any number of examples from any number of people near and far). The kindness of other people is making me a better person than I ever would have been without this. And whether or not this makes me a sap, I wish fervently for everyone to notice their own moments of beauty and goodness that their own worlds contain. Before Thanksgiving, in time to be properly grateful for your own pieces of wonder and grace. I will end this musing with a favorite quote of my brother’s, from Kurt Vonnegut:
“God damn it, babies, you’ve got to be kind!”
C. Stephens, November 2009