Carrying a heavy load

A few years ago, on a lovely Spring day, my sister and I arrived at my grandfather’s house and found him sitting on his porch, which was filled with furniture that had been stored in the basement during the winter. Most of the furniture was relatively light, but one upholstered chair looked quite heavy.

“Who carried all this upstairs?” we asked him, expecting to hear that a neighbor helped.

“I did!” he replied with pride and joy.

We were shocked. My 90-something-year-old grandfather lived independently and was relatively hardy for his age. He cultivated a full vegetable and fruit garden in his backyard and he prepared his own meals. We did not, however, expect him to carry furniture up the narrow basement stairs to the front porch, and my immediate response was a combination of awe and concern.

“How did you get the chair upstairs?”

He looked at us with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes, but stated, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, “One step at a time.”

The past two weeks in my life have been filled with suffering, dying and death. I won’t go through the entire list, but here is a sample:

• Friends needed to return to treatment for cancer diagnoses
• Others received new diagnoses.
• A friend’s two dogs died.
• My body was in pain, limiting my movement and activities

The heaviest part was learning of three deaths in less than one week. It was as if a big hole opened between heaven and earth and everyone was getting sucked into it.

Two of those who died were people I knew and loved. I was not related to them, and we did not have daily contact. But when they passed, I realized that they formed critical parts of the foundation on which I stood. Each of them supported and inspired me, most often by simply living their lives and letting me be part of it. I don’t know if either of them knew how important they were to me. I didn’t fully know, at least not consciously.

I attended the first memorial service, sad and stunned and honored to be invited.

A few days later, about to restart chemo, life looked grey. I am comfortable feeling sad, but I wanted to see the life in life as well. I knew that if I could have even a little, thin thread of light, I could follow that. But every time I looked for something light, I only found more death and suffering. One example: Flipping through the television channels, I got drawn into a movie  – which turned out to be based on Mitch Albom’s book Have a Little Faith, about his friendship with a dying rabbi.

I tried ways to “snap out of it.” I sat quietly. I tried to figure out whether there was some lesson for me in this. I asked God for help for me and for my friends. I focused on each moment. I tried to take care of myself. (Thankfully, my husband took total care of the boys.) I moved through my week.

Some good events occurred. I started chemo and miraculously didn’t vomit or even get nauseous. (You know you are digging deep when a good chemo session is the highlight!) We celebrated the boys’ birthdays (with me in bed – I was exhausted) and they had a good time despite my physical and emotional state. Mostly, I focused on getting through each day, as opposed to actually enjoying it.

I sent an email to friends about my sorry state of mind, and they responded. A compassionate word here, an insightful sentence there, a connection through stories….I felt myself being slowly lifted by their sentiments. Soon I could see a tiny little sparkle and I considered – perhaps it was part of a sparkly thread. A place where I could start.

As I let this light in, my physical problems got milder or disappeared altogether.

Some level of grace (and significant help from my husband) enveloped us and enabled me to attend the second memorial service on Sunday. There again, I felt sad but honored to be able to say goodbye to someone I was privileged to know and to be among people I have loved for all of my adult life.

That kind of love is buoying to me, especially in the face of sadness. Thank you for sharing your very kind words, your encouragement, your outlook on life, your divine light. It entered my heart and touched the divine spark that is within me and within us all. To move my life from grey to Technicolor, I could start there.

To move anything, even ourselves, it helps to take one step at a time.

With love and gratitude,
Marie