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“I’m Still Living My Life, and I’m Not Beaten Yet” by Ruthanne Harstad July 16, 2006
Readings: Taken from “A Common Destiny” by David Eaton (reading #557, hymnal)
All living substances, with energy, being, and purpose, are united and share the same destiny.
All people share the same destiny.
Birth-to-death we share this unity with the sun, earth, flowers, snow flakes, volcanoes and moon beams.
Our destiny: from unknown to unknown.
May we have the faith to accept this mystery and build upon its everlasting truth.
“But in these plethoric times when there is too much coarse stuff for everybody and the struggle for life takes the form of competitive advertisement and the effort to fill your neighbor’s eye, there is no urgent demand either for personal courage, sound nerves or stark beauty, we find ourselves by accident. Always before these times the bulk of the people did not overeat themselves, because they couldn’t, whether they wanted to or not, and all but a very few were kept ‘fit’ by unavoidable exercise and personal danger. Now, if only he pitch his standard low enough and keep free from pride, almost anyone can achieve a sort of excess. You can go through contemporary life fudging and evading, indulging and slacking, never really hungry nor frightened nor passionately stirred, your highest moment a mere sentimental orgasm, and your first real contact with primary and elemental necessities the seat of your deathbed.” H.G. Wells
Presentation by Ruthanne Harsted Good morning. Almost six years ago, on my 48th birthday, I learned I needed a stereotactic breast biopsy. Thus began my cancer odyssey. The Religious Services Committee asked me to reflect for you about this journey.
I want to begin by dispelling myths most people (yes, even bright UU’s) have about
cancer.
The first myth is that cancer is easy to diagnose. Sometimes, in fact, often, a definitive
cancer diagnosis requires numerous uncomfortable &/or painful tests. Let me tell you, the first time most people have the word “cancer” applied to them, it’s truly a “sucker punch.” Most people cry during the first day or two. After that, for a couple of weeks, I’d wake up late in the night and my eyes would leak even though I wasn’t actively crying. For me, hearing the diagnosis for a second cancer and for a later recurrence somehow was less startling. Perhaps the brain and body are not as shocked or are somehow semi-prepared for such news.
The second myth is that cancer is always or most always a death sentence. That thought certainly occurs. Today, however, the majority of cancers are survivable. In fact, many cancers are now considered a chronic illness to be managed over the course of a normal or nearly normal life span. Some cancers still have a bleak outlook and low survivability, including ovarian, the one I’m currently battling.
A third myth is that all cancer patients look sick, throw up, and are wiped out by chemotherapy or radiation. Many individuals with cancer may look healthier than they feel, or may actually feel pretty well much of the time. Most, of course, get worn down by treatments, especially over a long course of disease. The dreaded vomiting of 20-30 or more years ago is less prevalent today because almost all chemotherapy infusions are preceded by antiemetics, drugs that counteract nausea and vomiting.
Another myth is that all cancer patients gain wisdom from having the illness. I’m not sure I’ve gained any wisdom. I have gained one heck of a lot of knowledge, but it’s information I’d sooner not have. I’ve even undergone genetic testing for the sake of my nieces, nephews, and cousins. I found out I carry BRCA2, a genetic mutation that turns off what’s normally a tumor suppressor and often then leads causes reproductive cancers. Had I known sooner, I could have had an oopherectomy at the time of my breast cancer and, most likely, been spared ovarian cancer. I also could have chosen a total or radical mastectomy instead of a lumpectomy. However, we can only operate on the facts available, and there was no reason to perform genetic testing after learning I had breast cancer.
Far too many people believe all cancer patients are brave. I ask, what choice does one have? Perhaps it’s the opposite?—we’re actually afraid or unwilling to die so soon? James Baldwin writes, "Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced." When confronted with a deadly battle, we need to make choices that make sense to us. Cancer’s just the new reality.
I like what Andre Norton states about bravery: “As for courage and will, we cannot measure how much of each lies within us; we can only trust there will be sufficient to carry through the trials which may lie ahead.”
I will now discuss problems that arise with coping with disease, especially cancer.
1. TIME!
Appointments; blood tests; scans; x-rays; scheduling, renewing, and picking up prescriptions; keeping track of when to begin pre-treatment steroids; switching from low-dose maintenance antibiotics to high-dose ones when cellulitis flares up; keeping track of appointments and medical bills and receipts; submitting paperwork for the flex-pay plan through work; fighting with health and disability insurance companies; trying to work as often and much as possible; negotiating with employer and coworkers—all these take an enormous amount of time and energy and many of these tasks entail significant frustration: Ever heard of phone trees? Alleged customer service? User-unfriendly websites? I’ve become quite accomplished at carrying enough to keep myself watered, fed, temperature regulated, and occupied for hours, without resembling a bag lady schlepping around a mound of folders, papers, and books. 2. SIDE EFFECTS!
For example, for many of us who have had dealt with breast cancer, lymphedema—dangerous swelling of one or more affected limbs because of surgery—is part of our new reality. Let me tell you about the acute phase treatments. I happen to have been treated for both arm and a leg. I leave the first appointment wrapped in 3-400 feet of padding and short-stretch wraps that look a little like bloated Ace bandages. Unable to bend or otherwise use that limb much for 48 hours, I return an hour early for my next appointment, with an entire set of clean, new wraps and padding in my kit. I undress, unwrap the paddings and other layers, shower, dress, bag up the wrappings, and head to the therapy room where I, naturally, undress, at least partially, and prepare to go through the entire process I just executed, only in reverse. And, before the next appointment, I hand wash and lay flat to dry hundreds of feet of bandages. Then, usually with Pat’s help, I roll all the foam, padding, and short-stretch wraps. Managing to move to self-care, the chronic, lifelong phase, meansI learn to swaddle my own limb in the approved fashion. I also acquire and learn when and how to wear a Class I arm sleeve and glove, Class III thigh-high compression leg garments, and a high-tech Velcro contraption at night for my right leg. I have a daily session of self-MLD (manual lymph drainage), a specialized 30-minute massage, and stretches to perform before and after I work out.
Another commonality among women who have had breast or another reproductive cancer is hot flashes. In my case, in 2000 I entered menopause chemically, from chemotherapy. Chemo was followed by 5 years of Tamoxifen, now with a 5-year chaser of Femara. The purpose of these drugs is to discourage recurrence of the breast cancer, but they also keep my hypothalamus in overdrive, trying to cook my brain several times a day.
Other common side effects include an almost-permanent metallic taste, agonizing mouth or tongue sores, frequent nose bleeds, and dry, cracking skin, especially on the fingers and hands. While taking the 8-month course of Taxotere I just finished, I coped with constantly tearing eyes 4-5 hours each day. Now, on Doxil, I’m to avoid being near sunny windows, cutting raw vegetables, eating tomato-y or spicy foods, and getting overheated, among other precautions, for 1 day before and 5 days after treatment. This is so the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet don’t turn red and blister like third-degree sunburn. Naturally, hair loss, sleep disturbances, anemia, finger- and toenail destruction, and infection danger from low white blood cells are standard accompaniments to most cancer treatments. Many people suffer other side effects, ranging from bothersome to debilitating. The increasing joint pain I experienced while on Neulasta, a substance that stimulates white blood cell growth, made standing, walking, sleeping, in fact, any movement, dreadful.
3. COMPOUNDING OF SIDE EFFECTS
From past chemo/radiation ordeals, some effects linger and affect me with each new treatment. Some require medication; some require regular stretching or daily temperature monitoring; some cause pain; some complicate further tests, such as x-rays and CT and CAT scans; some simply require constant mindfulness. It’s MY job to remind health care personnel that BP readings, blood draws, and injections can only involve my left arm.
4. COMPOUNDING OF DISEASES Many people who get cancer already have or acquire one or more other diseases. Cancer doesn’t exempt anyone from additional health problems, and it often causes others. I just met a woman whose cancer gave her diabetes, and a dear friend now has leukemia from her breast cancer treatment. As for me, I cope with fatigue and cognitive inefficiency caused by multiple sclerosis, which I’ve had for over 20 years. Basically, multiple sclerosis is a chronic disease in which the body’s immune system attacks the myelin sheath surrounding the body’s nerves; think of insulation around a wire. The MS has attacked my brain, actually destroying some axons, and damaged my executive functions, the organizing of dates, times, places, and so on. The neuropsychologist who has tested my cognitive ability claims I’m still smart, that I’m the only patient she’s ever had, in fact, who “aced” the IQ portion of her exam. However, I’m not only tired most of the time, I’m also frustrated because I so often misplace or forget things and can no longer multitask. YOU can help: reminders before meetings and other events are not seen as nagging but as ways to assist me in getting tasks accomplished on schedule and showing up at meetings.
5. The DESIRE FOR INDEPENDENCE, a reluctance to ask for and accept help, to admit limitations, ties in with my
6. CONCERN ABOUT OVERRELYING ON AND BURDENING OF PAT, my beloved life partner of more than 20 years. And I believe I’m not as much fun as I once was. I’m aware I have less patience and am crankier than before cancer and memory scrambling.
7. UNCERTAINTY
It’s hard to plan future events. Should we think about planning a trip for next spring or summer? Will I live long enough to retire? Should I consider leaving my job on disability? How much talk about my possible/likely death is wise, without becoming morbid or obsessive or depressing? As much as I’d like to live to be 60 or 70 (I’m 54 now), a reasonable person can neither ignore the odds nor discount the reality of my prognosis. Less than one-quarter of women diagnosed with ovarian cancer survive 5 years, and most of those who do make it to 5 years are on chemotherapy the rest of their life. I don’t dwell on those numbers, and, obviously, I hope for a better outcome, yet I cannot count on a long, or even an average, North American lifespan. We all know intellectually we’re going to die; most of us don’t know intimately that it’s truly a likely prospect. It’s easy to say, “We’re all going to die. I could leave my office and get run over by a bus tomorrow.” Such a response to someone with cancer is NOT helpful; it belittles the person and their reality of facing their own mortality. Consider the possibility versus the probability.
8. MONEY!
I have spent just under $57,000 on out-of-pocket medical expenses over the past six years, and have earned $175,300 during those same six years. And I have health insurance through my employer!
Now that I’ve shown you some of the problems resulting from cancer, I’d like to share some other thoughts.
I’m NOT glad I got cancer/MS. They’re not “the best thing that ever happened to me,” not even a GOOD thing . I usually get angry—no, furious—when I read an article about someone whose life was so meaningless or petty or grasping or unexamined that getting a horrid, life-altering or life–stealing disease IMPROVED it!
Don’t forget that life goes on, even while dealing with illness or other problems, just as life goes on when someone dies. Keeping up a house, paying bills, shoveling the walk or mowing the grass--none of it politely waits while you deal with bigger issues. NOW, as power of attorney for my mother, I’m making lots of tough decisions and changes behind the scenes to help her with advancing Alzheimer’s disease. I do attend a support group. I initially went because research shows increased survival time in attendees. My fears were that the group would be “touchy feely,” or filled with pop psychology. At the first meeting, shortly after my lumpectomy but before my chemotherapy, when we introduced ourselves one at a time, I broke down and couldn’t even talk about my cancer. A woman in the group immediately placed her hands on my shoulders and let me gain my composure; her healing touch made me feel amazingly safe and accepted. Now, I attend the ABC breast cancer support group more than half the time. I’ve comforted a newly-diagnosed woman in the same manner that welcomed me into the club no one wants to join. We get current information from health care providers, researchers, and each other. I’ve met many people, made some friends, lost some friends to cancer, and receive occasional encouraging notes, phone calls, or emails. The group members still let me attend even though I’m now dealing most directly with ovarian, not breast, cancer. I encourage others who are facing cancer to try a support group and tell them, “If you find a good fit, stay with it.”
One powerful aspect of cancer treatment that’s often taken for granted is the friendly, helpful medical personnel up and down the line—almost all I’ve encountered are unfailingly cheerful yet straight-shooting.
I think taking a look at me and my life so far is worthwhile; let’s see what disease has and hasn’t changed.
I’ve been serious about life as far back as I can remember. I’ve loved and enjoyed life, but I’ve always tried to live “decisionally,” what some call “conscious living.” I can still be impulsive and enjoy serendipity. Pat and I have long had documents in place to cope with life’s finality: Power of Attorneys for health, fiduciary matters; advanced directives. Our family’s so matter-of-fact about such matters that, just before my father’s memorial in 1997, when my 3-year-old niece, Nina, heard that Grandpa’s body was going to be cremated, she suddenly and earnestly declared to her 5-year-old brother, “Ben, we have to decide who’s going to ‘fire’ Mom and Dad.”
Being out of the mainstream of heterosexuality has meant Pat and I’ve had to spend a lot of money protecting each other and what we’ve achieved together that heterosexual couples don’t have to. I love heterosexuals—“some of my best friends are” —and my parents were, but we have to jump through MANY more legal hoops to provide even a modicum of the numerous free benefits married folks get automatically.
A strong sense of justice coupled with anger at injustice has been a constant throughout my life. I’ve striven to be moral, including kindness and generosity toward others I do not recall one meal-time prayer by my father that didn’t include recognition that most people in the world were without even the basics of life, shelter, clean water, and sufficient food. My mother’s career was almost full-time volunteer involvement. Our family was always globally aware, particularly around population issues, with peace, civil rights, women’s rights, sexuality education, housing, living wage, resource allocation, and other social justice issues playing a large role in our community interactions. My generosity arises from example: my parents were always giving—time, talent, and treasure. It also arises from my social justice impulse. My father would be sickened by the suggestion that this country would even talk about removing the estate tax!
As a middle child, I always had lots of friends. I’ve always been gregarious, enjoying meeting new people. My basic personality is that of a big puppy (except that I won’t jump on company or pee on your carpet.). There’s also little or no pretense or guile. One friend claimed I was the original “WYSIWYG”—What You See Is What You Get. That’s still me though I have cancer: I’m open. TALK to me; ask me questions.
Since moving to DSM in 1989, I’ve not kept up with too many of my old friends—a personal failing and disappointment. Connections, even if not deep friendships, are vital to me—in DSM, most stem from church relationships, people with similar interests and concerns, usually with closely aligned views, working to live our values.
CARDS and NOTES to remind me people are thinking of me and Pat are very healing. Other than cards from Caring Ministry, I received almost no others during my last course of chemo. Two or three people kept up with my progress via email, an old friend called when she could afford it, and one church member phones regularly to catch up and cheer me on. And my friend Lorna from the breast cancer support group and I check in by phone every 2-3 weeks for lengthy updates.
Pat and I occasionally go out to lunch or dinner with people. These contacts are affirming and fun and provide a change of pace. They allow us to fill people in on the cancer but also on the rest of our lives (our jobs, travel plans/dreams, kids and grandkids, siblings, parents), and to catch up on theirs. We also get to talk about lots of things, not just cancer. Other than that, I’ve often felt quite isolated. When one is not on the job, or only on the job part-time, one tends to be overlooked.
One lesson to you is that ongoing support via cards or notes, even if it’s a long haul (as my health struggles have been), is vital.
My MAIN “INSIGHT” might be that I appreciate life and am glad I’ve lived my life the way I have.
The first thought I expressed to Pat after my diagnosis was “I’m glad I’ve lived. I’m really happy I haven’t waited to experience life.” For example, I didn’t wait for retirement, or till I was in a relationship, or till I had the money.
I spent many years out in the world, learning about the world, people, myself, how to adapt, how to reduce my impact on the planet, how to share some of my favorite places and activities with other people. As Walt Whitman explains it, “Now I see the secret of making the best persons, It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth.” From 1969 through 1985, I traveled extensively, almost always by myself, and challenged myself. Some of these years I actually lived entirely outdoors. I was “on my own” in the sense explained by Aldo Leopold in the earlier reading. Let me provide you three examples of challenges I took on when I was young.
I spent one summer living with a Canadian family deep in the bush of Guyana, South America, ninety miles (3-5 days) by water from electricity, doctors, telephones, clean water. I interacted with a colorful blend of Wai-Wai and Wapishani AmerIndians, descendants of Dutch slaves, and descendants of East Indian indentured servants and learned how to navigate a dugout canoe in a huge tidal river. I not only survived killing alligators, tapirs, and copybaras to eat, but I thrived. Those months helped build my confidence that I could adapt and get along with people and life circumstances quite different from what I was used to.
In 1973, this kid from barely-above-sea-level Iowa spent six weeks in a National Outdoor Leadership School rock-, snow-, and ice-climbing expedition in the North Cascades of Washington. Through that experience, I gained more leadership skills and confidence in my body.
The following year I carried an 80-pound pack 2,048 miles from Georgia to Maine, walking through varied weather for 102 days, averaging 21 miles per day. I viewed my solo through-hike of the Appalachian Trail as a worthwhile lark; I even convinced a community college to grant me academic credit for the hike. Since joining our lives in 1985, Pat Headley and I have traveled to and adventured in quite a few beautiful and interesting places—and, sometimes, taken others along to share the beauty and challenge and good times. The summer just before I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis I supervised the backpacking wilderness patrol for the US Forest Service in the Trinity Alps of far northern California.
I clearly see the value of Henry David Thoreau’s advice: “…and rest thee by many brooks and hearthsides without misgiving….Rise free from care before the dawn, and seek adventures. Let the noon find thee by other lakes, and the night overtake thee everywhere at home. There are no larger fields than these, no worthier games than may here be played….”
I could do anything I needed to. I had no fear, and I had taught myself not to panic. I felt at home in the world. I celebrated life with spontaneity and verve. In fact, I had the sort of wild spirit Herman Melville writes about: “As for small difficulties and worryings, prospects of sudden disaster, peril of life and limb; all these, and death itself, seem to him only sly, good-natured hits, and jolly punches in the side bestowed by an unseen and unaccountable old joker….There is nothing like the perils of the wilderness to breed this free and easy sort of genial, desperado philosophy.”
Cancer hasn’t changed any of that. I still don’t worry, even about cancer tests, and I still feel at home almost anywhere I go. In 1998, I had the privilege of teaching 20 students from 7 Iowa community colleges in Cambridge, England for 12 weeks. This challenging experience allowed me to use my talents in one of the loveliest cities imaginable and to take long walks in the Yorkshire Dales, the Lake District, and Wales’s Snowdonia on weekends.
As I examined other threads, or themes, in my life in preparation for today, I decided to share them with you and see if, and how, cancer has or hasn’t changed each.
My beliefs reject heaven, hell, and judgment as well as a deity. My belief system is intact; I’m still not fearful. Terry Russell, a staunch advocate of free speech, a hiker and adventurer who died in a rafting mishap in the Green River, connects the dots for me when he explains his view of the eternal and its connection to the present in nature:
“Who’s afraid of the universe? It’s midnight on the desert or the coast or high above timberline, the Milky Way is close and the stars are singing. I am not small, I fill the sphere. I tremble before the cosmos no more than a fish trembles before the tides.” SOCIAL ACTIVISM: from Vietnam on, I’ve protested and acted against war. I was active in the Cedar Rapids National Organization for Women chapter my younger brother helped begin when he was in high school. When I lived in Philadelphia in the early 1970s, I worked with Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom. I have written and called and marched and sat in and acted on a host of social justice and civil rights issues. I also have contributed money and sweat. Just last election, I walked two precincts by myself for the Kerry campaign. I generate numerous letters on several issues and attend local land-use and planning meetings.
Cancer hasn’t changed that. In fact, many of you have probably been asked by me to sign and mail a letter on a social, political, or environmental issue right here at church.
EARNING MY LIVING: I’ve had numerous jobs and occupations: > 100 jobs, > 50 different careers at last count. Such a background really helps me connect with my community college students. No matter their occupation or interest, I have experienced it or had some connection to or understanding of it.
Cancer has changed that. When I’ve been able to teach, my main profession the last 20 years, I’ve taught fewer courses, fewer hours. And, as I mentioned earlier, I’ve made even less money than my teaching contracts specified. I have added one career since I first got cancer—tax professional, which I’ve practiced every spring since 2001.
LEARNING: After high school, I attended one year of a “normal” college, then dropped out to move to a collective near Philadelphia for a year. Later, after working and traveling another couple of years, I studied for two quarters at a community college, finishing an Associate of Arts degree. After the Appalachian Trail, I completed a bachelor’s degree via independent study. Eventually, after spending almost 7 years as a letter carrier, I managed to earn two masters and an educational specialist degree while teaching part-time or full-time.
To train for tax preparation work, I took an initial 120-hour class, and I keep current with 30-60 hours of ongoing classes each year. I have a love affair with words and language. In 1973, I took one semester of Spanish. This spring, I took another Spanish course, one for people over 50 at the Pappajohn Center in downtown DSM. I enjoy NUMBERS as well! As I grew up, %ages were real to me and everyone in my family. E.g., when someone had been ill, the next day they said they were “84% better.” When asking for a piece of pie, we might request a piece 96% the size of someone else’s, or 111%. Using percentages this way was normal in my childhood! My 14-year-old nephew, Ben, got in trouble in school for saying he understood his math problem 93%; his teacher thought he was being a smart aleck, but he has the same familiarity and comfort with numbers I grew up with. Cancer hasn’t changed my love of learning, but multiple sclerosis has made it less of a breeze. My neuropsychologist says it’s just harder for me to learn new things fast and easily, so I’m no longer a “quick study.” THE ARTS: Pat and I support and attend live theater and catch quite a few independent films and public lectures. In addition, one of the courses I teach at DMACC, Humanities through the Arts, allows me to share my enthusiasm with interested and curious students every Wednesday evening.
Disease hasn’t changed that, although I might forget the name of the film we viewed the other night.
INVESTING and GIFTING: My parents practiced financial savvy—frugality, living beneath one’s means, giving, investing. I’ve tried to do the same, often combining my love of numbers and financial savvy with charitable causes: walkathons, Endowment and canvass work at both Unitarian Universalist churches I’ve belonged to. Pat and I have both been frugal and invested well. I can’t imagine how we would have managed if we hadn’t lived beneath our means all these years. Neither of us has ever had a large income, nor aspired to. Cancer hasn’t changed that.
Since joining here, we’ve both pledged in the general canvass, and Pat and I stretched to make a pledge for the capital campaign despite limited finances stemming from illness. Pat and I have continued to donate over half of our yearly income to worthy causes in spite of having almost no cash flow, and, for several years, negative cash flow. Cancer has begun to change that.
We’ve also started small College Savings Iowa funds for many children. We consider our contributions seed money, but we believe the example and opportunity for these children’s parents and extended families can bear fruit throughout these kids’ lifetimes.
For the past 9 years, Pat and I have tried to give our grandchildren time, a sense of wonder and excitement about all the possibilities in life. We’ve also tried to model responsible living on the planet, showing them how to recycle, leave no trace outdoors, view wildlife without disturbance. One of my saddest realizations about our grandchildren is that I might not live to see them mature and begin to make their own way in the world.
I USED TO TRAVEL LIGHT. Even though disease has increased exponentially the amount of medical gear I need to carry, I still try to travel light and have a small impact on the physical world. Cancer hasn’t changed that significantly.
WE LIVE NOT ONLY FRUGALLY, BUT WITHOUT A LOT OF STUFF. Pat and I believe people should participate in life, NOT spectate! For all of my almost 54 years, I’ve had no television. Trying to truly live and interact honestly helps—I don’t believe I’m less worthy or somehow lacking because we don’t own the latest gadget, so-called timesaving device, or fashion.
We compost like crazy at our house, recycle just about everything—religiously, and spread the ethic of reduce/reuse/recycle at home, work, church, and in most organizations I belong to or participate in.
Cancer hasn’t changed that.
Let me share one of my most useful possessions with you. [HOLD UP A CANVAS BAG.]
This simple canvas bag ties frugality with everyday environmental activism. I don’t know about your grocery store, but on the East side, Dahl’s and Hy-Vee subtract a nickel for every canvas bag we bring to the store. No more “paper or plastic?” decisions! And notice the long strap that makes carrying this unbreakable bag home easy, whether by foot, bike, bus, or even a car.
SHARING BEAUTIFUL PLACES AND CHALLENGING EXPERIENCES WITH OTHERS:
I have taken advantage of the opportunities that have arisen in my life.
I’ve also taught backpacking, swimming, rock climbing, hiking, and backpacking to numerous people over the years. And, by myself or with Pat, led adventure trips to little-known and seldom-visited natural areas—the Trinity Alps mountains, Mount Lassen Volcanic National Park, Isle Royale, Mark Twain National Forest, the Canadian Maritimes. Cancer and MS have changed that: the uncertainty, heat, and need to take lymphedema precautions have made leading such trips for groups impracticable. As some of you know, though, we continue to plan fabulous trips for and with our kids and grandkids.
Summing up my life so far, I’m grateful for my life and all its variegated and marled threads. Cicero’s words seen applicable: “A life employed in the pursuit of useful knowledge, in honourable actions and the practice of virtue…yields an unspeakable comfort to the soul.” Well, except for the “soul” part; I’m still not convinced such a thing exists, nor what one is if it exists. But having learned and striven to be an ethical, involved global citizen does provide comfort when reviewing one’s life.
One other thought: Too often, we don’t tell people we appreciate them! Another lesson for youLESSONS: Support groups CAN be helpful. Cards and letters mean the world to people who are isolated, sick, or injured—SEND THEM! Take your own bags to the grocery store. Tell people you appreciate them! Don’t wait around--Experience life!
LICENSE PLATES 2001: JHB (“Just Happy to Be”) 2004: NBY (“Not Beaten Yet”)
CLOSING WORDS: “On my refrigerator hangs a saying by Mark Twain: ‘Always do right. This will gratify some and astonish others.’ When you attempt to do the right thing for the right reasons, you grow— even if it appears that you have failed or lost. Over time, others will appreciate and support your efforts.” -- Wendy Wintersteen (Dean of ISU’s Coll. of Ag.)
Final words to add after extinguishing chalice: Live your life!
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