It Was a Very Good Day

"How beautiful a day can be when kindness touches it."

~ George Elliston

I made a promise to myself at Thanksgiving that this holiday season, possibly our last together, would be one of our best, something for John to brighten his days, something to cherish for the rest of my life.  I made lists of possible activities, moments that could qualify as special, places we enjoy, meals I'd prepare - and I don't like to cook.  That weekend I took extra care to create festive touches in every room, even the bathrooms.  I spent an entire day just on the Christmas tree.  And crossed my fingers, hoping that my vision would become reality in the following weeks.  Hoping I'd hear him say that this was the best holiday ever.

Then, unexpectedly, unplanned, the telephone call from old friends, friends of three-plus decades.  Friends whose wedding we stood up for 32 years ago, friends whose conversations pick up where they left off even if months go by without contact.  Could they come out for a visit?  

They arrived last week.  And we did what old friends do - got caught up on each other's lives, shared wine, ate out, gossiped, laughed, reminisced, offered help without being asked for it, wished we lived closer.  And each of the three nights they were here, John commented to me, "This was such a nice day."  

Each day was a nice day, but I will cherish one in particular.  The two men went off for the day, a special treat for John, a day to spend with this man who in many ways has been as much a younger brother as a friend.  A chance to say things he might not say to me for wanting to protect me.  A chance to say what each needed to say in case this would be the last time they saw each other.

And they did just that.  When I asked John what they had talked about, at first he answered simply, "Love."  And then, "Of our love for one another and our special bond and how much I have touched his life." And then, "I cannot tell you what that meant to me.  To know I made such a difference to such a good man."  

There are other memories to create this holiday, but we have already had our Christmas.  John's days are brighter, I will always remember our conversation and cherish the man whose kindness and support made it possible.  A very good day, indeed.

*If you found this helpful or know someone who might, please share and like my page.

Cherish Is the Word

The word cherish is in my reading vocabulary, but not much in my speaking or writing.  Oh, I had promised it would be 15 years ago when I fought breast cancer and realized how many people cared about me.  When I noticed how much I hadn't noticed.  When I vowed I would be more present, more attentive, more grateful.  When I realized how much I had to not only be grateful for, but to cherish and cherish deeply.  For, to be grateful for a red rose or a pretty sunset, to be glad a friend called can become an intellectual exercise, a momentary acknowledgment, a good habit, but a habit nonetheless.  

My intention was confirmed and reaffirmed when, two years later, John was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins, and he received his stem cell transplant.  And survived.

I'd like to say I've lived the dozen or so years since then having kept my promise to myself, but I haven't.  I became distracted, caught up with retirement, and moving, and planning and preparing, more everyday tasks and chores.  I didn't even catch myself up short when John was diagnosed again a year ago.  After all, more tasks to get our "house in order."  More planning and preparation.

Then, last weekend a series of sweet, small events gave me pause.  Telephone calls from old and new friends to see how we are holding up.  To remind me they are here for us.  A visit with dear friends who were about to move.  And another from friends we left behind when we moved.  Hugs and words of endearment and encouragement.  And tears that flowed for days - with sadness and gratitude.  So much, so many to cherish.  How could I have forgotten?

Why does it take a crisis for some of us to remember?  To cherish what we have now.  To cherish deeply what we have now.