Our dear friend Annie has been moved to Bailey Boushay house in Seattle for palliative care. They are doing their utmost to keep her pain under control, and to love and uphold her and her family during this time.
We so want to be with them, but physically that may not be possible. We don't want to intrude on this precious time, but we are with them in our every breath and thought.
I've been thinking about this recently. I've been feeling overwhelmed with love for this life of mine. It's not perfect, it's not what I expected, it's sometimes challenging or annoying. But it's the only one I have and it's beautiful to me.
Here are my essentials: I have good people around me. People I love. People who are as imperfect as I am, but who attempt every day to do their best, to give the world the love that is inside them. To channel goodness, to laugh at the way the world sometimes works, to challenge untruth and to let go of the rest. I love them with everything I have.
I have good strong love to give. I do my best to give it freely, without condition. I don't always succeed. Sometimes I am judgmental and I mutter in my soul. And in my car. I am working on this.
I have work that I love. The people I work with are challenged in many ways. They may not be able to process or communicate the way the rest of the world does, but there is so much light in their eyes and hearts, and I'm honored to be with them.
I have the most amazing family. The family I was born to, and the family I have chosen. My brothers and sister are dearer to me with every day that passes. My love for my husband goes so deep and we are so connected. I am grateful to have this life with him. It's not perfect, but it's the imperfections that make me treasure him and our marriage all the more.
My son. I look at him now and wonder how we wound up with him. He's listening to headbanging rock music and he loves hockey and he's sometimes sassy and disobedient and lazy. He's also kind and brave and silly and beautiful and whipsmart and wiser than most forty year old people I know. He's only eight. I treasure seeing his darkness as well as his light. I honor who he is, and realize my hopes for him need only be these: that he is as happy in his life, that he is a good, kind person, and that he contributes his best self to the world. Of this last, I have no doubt that he will.
My goal is to see just some of it come to fruition. I have no idea what the future holds, or if I will meet that goal. But I know in my heart that he carries my love for him like a force and a shield, and I believe that is the best thing I have ever done with my life.
My Playlist
7 comments:
amen. to all of the above.
*big hugs*
you send such good things into the world -- bless you.
I'm at a loss for words, but I wanted to let you know that I believe you are the person you strive to be. Because acknowledging that we are all perfect in our own imperfect ways makes us more accepting. I am so sorry for your friend, Annie, and her family. I pray for peace on all levels.
Such, SUCH a lovely bit of sweetness and inspiration. Well stated, and so obviously passionately felt. I read this moments after returning from the nicest of Sunday mornings: a very pretty summery drive through farmlands and orchards to our next town over (winters, calif) for one of those geeerate breakfasts with friends, in a cafe filled with the art of friends, and conversations that were silly and funny and rich... with our son at the center, entertaining us, and otherwise. :) Your blog was perfect punctuation. Smiling all over.
“Joy and sorrow are inseparable. . . together they come and when one sits alone with you . . . remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.” - Kahlil Gibran
My heart goes out to you.
You made me cry, Annie. So beautiful, so perfect. And so true.
Hugs and love to both your family and to Annie's. I don't know what else to say. One of the high school choirs at the graduations I worked today sang a lovely arrangement of the Beatles' "In My Life." It's running through my head again now.
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