I dreamed friends of mine had a baby with a terminal disease. We were all stricken, horribly upset and sad. But this couple welcomed their baby, not as just a sick baby, but as the love of their lives.
They spent the next 14 days totally present enjoying the little spirit who visited them. They had her company, her tears, her smiles, her naps and suckling. Each moment of the two week visit was precious and endless. They spent it together, not in doctor’s offices, mourning, worrying about the future or as though anything was wrong.
There doesn’t need to be a first birthday or a 31st birthday party. They celebrate the fullness of the visit as anyone present might. They aren’t waiting for something to happen soon, they are tickled by both coming and going, and especially by the non-diluted full spectrum experience of now.
It’s Tuesday morning, unless you are stuck focusing on something that happened yesterday or that big meeting this afternoon. And in that case nobody is home minding the moment. Take care of this moment simply by being there: future and past moments will take care of themselves.
But really, I went to the doctor the other day. He looked very concerned. “You have a tumor in your brain.” he said. “And you have three months to live.”
I smiled, laughed and clapped him on the back. For a while now I have been expecting to die tomorrow and now this learned man, an expert in his field has extended my life by three months. I am not sure what I will do with three months but I am quite happy about it. With only one day to live I haven’t been getting much done. Instead of eating green shakes, kale and nuts I’ve been eating like a condemned man: fried chicken, french fries and oodles of red velvet cake. I haven’t sought a romantic partner because it didn’t seem fair to her.
Now, with three months I may as well eat better, find someone to have and to hold and get on with life. I was surprised that the state of doctoring has come so far that they can tell you how long you have to live.
A friend of mine was monitoring her elderly parents. Dad had slowly lost his mind, not even recognizing his own wife or daughter. He had been checked out for over a dozen years when one day an accident happened.
There was a grandfather clock against the wall in the hallway between the kitchen and front room. Each hour this thing clanged announcing the changing of the guard. On this particular day Mom was rushing from the kitchen while Dad was heading in for a spoon full of peanut butter. They ran into each other and something magical happened.
Dad reappeared. “Mary” he exclaimed and embraced his wife lovingly. For the next hour and a half they sat at the kitchen table and talked like the lovers they had always been. Mary brought him up to date on some of what he missed; they laughed and enjoyed each other’s company again.
After their inspired talk Dad began to fall back into his fog, and by dinner he had no idea where he was or who he was.
Mary cherished that hour and a half for the rest of her life.
Author: Jerry Stocking
Editor: Travis May