Just recently, even though it is November, the sun shone on the swing and I was able to gently rock & read. Fall brings a swirl of leaves from the maples scattering them about in front of the porch, making the leaves the presage of autumn. As I sat reading, warmed by the sun, I read: "One of the great things about a leaf, is that is reminds you to live as well as you can for as long as you can, until it's finally time to let go and allow yourself to drift away with grace."
It seems universal to me that as humans in our culture, we wrap ourselves in fear. Fear, fear and more fear. We fear what others might think of us or fear not being good enough or fear failing to meet the expectations (and even fear) of our loved ones. But really what we should be doing is embracing time and space, viewing our existence as glorious and wise. We need to be creatures who receive. It should be a privilege to receive each day knowing that life is not everlasting. We should take each day and try to enjoy it, delight in it, sing about it. We have a phrase in our house "you make my heart sing", each day should begin and end in the same love.
In our house we face the degenerative disease of Parkinson's every day; it can taunt and challenge, provoke and jeer. But in the floating of time, we must make the posture of our soul be GRATITUDE. This demands that we face our own mortality and strive to acknowledge our dependence and our needs and accept the goodness and kindness of others, trying to mimick the journey of the leaf, drifting through time.
Reading that sentence the other day was just a reminder of something we all know; we are born, we live, we die and what a privilege it is. It reminded me that it is Russ' journey and not someone else's. Facing the Fire and Rescue teams arrival 2 times this week was a glaring reminder to have continued discussion. It is Russ' decision, allowing us all to help him navigate what that looks like to him. I only get to make those kind of decisions for myself.
In the words of author Philip Simmons in his book "Learning to Fall: The Blessings of an Imperfect Life" he says: "People bring their own contexts, their particular needs and gifts and sensibilities, to the work of learning to live richly in the face of loss-work that I call 'learning to fall'.
May we both (and you too of course) learn to fall with grace.