Thank Goodness for the Little Things

"In grief, the little things are the big things."

~Alan D. Wolfelt, Ph.D

Grief One Day at a Time

I have been expressing my thankfulness for little things in gratitude journals for over 40 years.  This practice has been a support through divorce, illness, and times of conflict and stress, but never as much as these past months since John's death.  So, upon coming across this quote recently, I decided to revisit the gratitude journal I've just completed to see what little things buoyed me up this past summer.  Could it be that noticing and appreciating these things contributed to the summer being easier than I had dreaded?  

• a bumper crop of roses - John would have been so pleased
• a hummingbird hovering within inches of my face
• chilled red grapes
• a decent night's sleep
• and an afternoon nap on the patio chaise
• figuring out how to program the TV on my own
• frozen yogurt on a hot day
• a good book - great writing, thought-provoking, elegant - the perfect book for the moment
• an unexpected call from an old friend
• and an invitation for lunch from a new one
• two dozen, yes two, yellow tulips (my favorite flower) from a friend, "just because"
• the desert sky at dusk
• a slice of cheesecake that I treated myself to
• chicken noodle soup when I'm under the weather
• how much better everything sounds with my new hearing aids
• finding an old love letter
• a sudden, unexpected happy memory
• a card, a joke, a silly gift -  moments that evoked giggles, even outright belly laughs
• a customer service agent who actually provides good service
• helpful strangers who reach objects on top shelves without my asking (I'm only 4'11 and need all the help I can get)
• anyone who asks how I'm doing and is willing to hear the truth
• friends who have walked this path before me and can reassure me that what I'm experiencing is normal
• a stranger telling me how much she or he enjoyed John and misses him
• old musicals - especially anything with Gene Kelly
• and gripping British mysteries
• a good news story that sets the tone for a positive day
• stumbling on an inspirational quote
• finding something I've misplaced 
• and always, always, my sweet Rufus, my little companion, who greets me with pirouettes and soft growls, tailing wagging, a guarantee I never walk into an empty house

Reflecting a bit on this list, I can see that this simple practice of recording 3-5 little things I'm grateful for every night is, indeed, one of the little things that is helping me endure this grief.  Without this as an established practice, I suspect I could find it almost impossible to notice the little things. For this enduring practice of finding gratitude for the little things, I am most grateful.

Random Acts of Kindness

"Unexpected kindness is the most powerful, least costly, most underrated agent of human change."

~ Bob Kerrey

I woke this morning to a damp and dreary day. A good day to rest, read, and reflect - especially since we are still recouping from our recent trip to MD Anderson Cancer Center.

This trip can take a lot out of us. It's not just that air travel has become more difficult. It's also the emotional stress of not knowing what we might hear from the hematologist, the physical stress of pushing John everywhere in a wheelchair, the physical stress for him of yet another bone marrow biopsy.  And when we're done, managing another day of travel and our morale for at least another week until we receive the biopsy report.

We've made this trip three times within 17 months. Each with a similar routine, yet each yielding radically different reactions. The first visit we met with the hematologist assigned to us, an austere Russian trained research physician, whose honesty bordered on bluntness, a shocking confrontation with reality while we were already shell-shocked. By our second visit, she was warmer, gentler, but the news she delivered still bleak and unpromising. Still no cure on the horizon. No appropriate clinical trials available. And her concern for John's appearance disconcerting. The biopsy took two attempts, and the results still were inconclusive. Overall, every bit as challenging a visit. Maybe even more so.

It was a surprise, therefore, when we both affirmed as we left our accommodations that this trip was a much more positive experience even though we couldn't pinpoint why at first. Yes, our doctor was even warmer, more personable, more patient with our questions, clearer with her answers.  But still no cure, no appropriate clinical trials. The biopsy went smoother. But still no results yet.

And then it hit us in the airport as someone offered to help with our luggage. This what was different. The constant stream of kindness that had enveloped us the entire trip. People who lifted luggage without being asked. People who held doors and offered help with the wheelchair. People who not only gave directions but walked with us to be sure we were headed the right way - and not because they were paid to do so. People who smiled first. People who genuinely seemed pleased to see us and willing to listen. People who reminded me with every gesture that there are wonderful, kind and decent people all around us.

Simple, unrequested, unexpected acts of kindness. I'd like to think I would always be aware of and grateful for them. But I suspect they have meant so much more because I am so much more aware of our fragility, so much more susceptible to cynicism and despair. Powerful, inexpensive but not underrated in this household.

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Reflections on Christmas Past

"Christmas is a season not only of rejoicing but of reflection."

~  Winston Churchill

I woke the other day with the sudden realization that this is my 76th Christmas and a flood of childhood Christmas memories washed over me.  For no apparent reason.  No dreams that I could recall.  No family traditions binding me to the past.

Then again, I have been decorating with a vengeance and friends have called to say they will be visiting.  And I have indulged in more than a few Hallmark holiday movies.  You know the ones, filled with romance and fantasy, ideal families and happy endings.  Simple plots and enough good cheer to last all year.

Our family was not filled with good cheer.  Money was tight. Relations could be strained.  But, somehow, we were at our best at Christmas.  

I loved watching my mother bake cookies for weeks starting right after Thanksgiving.  Enough chocolate chips and pecan snowballs, Spritz and sugar cookies, pinwheels and ladyfingers to fill the turkey roasting pan and several large bowls.  All made with real butter and leaving an aroma that filled the house for weeks.  Enough to give packages to all the family who came to visit.  And they came - all six brothers of my dad, and the two brothers and a sister of my mom, and their children.  They flowed in and out for days.

I loved decorating the real tree, purchased only a week or so before the holidays and laden with family heirlooms and silver tinsel that had to be layered a string at a time - I remember feeling so grown up when I was finally allowed to do so.  And the cards, checking the mail every day to see if we received a card from someone Mom had sent one to, her cards signed in red ink for the season.  She would read them, looking for a message, and then tape them to the archway to the living room.  And count them, every year.

The other sure sign of the season - the music.  Not only did Mom enjoy the traditional Christmas carols, (well, I think Rudolph was tolerated), but once we attended Catholic school, I sang in the church choir.  And Midnight Mass was the second time Dad could be dragged to church, Easter being the other.  Such a treat to get "dressed up" and sing before my parents.

And of course, the food.  Both Mom and Nonna were great cooks.  We celebrated Christmas Eve with Nonna who made pizza, from scratch naturally, and fried the leftover dough and rolled it in sugar, a treat for the grandkids.  Then, returned for Christmas Day to a feast that took days to prepare and almost as long to clean up after.

Gifts were simple - coloring books and crayons, puzzles, roller skates, a game.  And always pajamas and for me, and later my baby sister, a dress that Mom sewed.  Gifts that appeared while we were at Nonna's.  Gifts that I discovered Mom and Dad had bought when I finally noticed that Santa's name was always signed in red ink.  Gifts that were given and received with love and appreciation.

We were at our best at Christmas.  I think I'll bake cookies this year.

Little Things Mean a Lot

Recently, I posted on Facebook -

"A day of simple pleasures...cutting roses in our backyard, a lovely lunch with a fine friend (and a crepe and creme brulee to boot), finding a tiny treasure for my office, an afternoon nap, and a bowl of popcorn while watching the World of Dance with John, who's had a good day too. And off to bed with a good mystery - I'm a happy camper."

I doubt I would have written something like this 20 years ago.   Is it because my world has become smaller and more confined?  Is it because our lives have become consumed by handling more important things?  Is it because the bigger issues in my life are looming as so beyond my control? So far beyond my control that to pay attention to the little things is a matter of survival? 

Or is it simply because I'm older and wiser? Which, of course, is the explanation I prefer!

No matter.  Whatever the reason or reasons, 

• having a good piece of chocolate, well anything chocolate
• seeing a movie with a friend
• watching The Voice or So You Think You Can Dance with John, critiquing the whole way through
• taking the time to enjoy spectacular coral desert sunsets
• journaling on the courtyard chaise in the morning when the only sound that interrupts my concentration is our friendly pair of mourning doves
• laughing at a sacrilegious Facebook post, well laughing in general
• cleaning out a drawer or shelf - I can hear the disbelief now - "you find that pleasurable?" I do, I do.
• watching a baby play, whether a human baby or a puppy or a kitten, a baby
• reading good writing
• hearing John laugh
• holding hands
• learning how to do something new, but especially anything on the computer - John can hear my yell of triumph anytime I figure out something for myself.
• receiving an e-mail, message or phone call from an old friend
• hearing "I love you" and knowing it's true

I can regret that I didn't learn how important or how satisfying this when I was younger, but that's a waste of time.  I'd rather pay attention to these little things.