Finally, I got it. I watched this video (BELOW) by Ira Glass, “The Glass on Storytelling Part 3,” again. I read, updated, and wrote, sketching in a picture book story, one based on a Christmas song. (That’s how long I’ve kept the thought in my mind.)
A course offered by author/entrepreneur, Julie Hedlund, opened with the appropriate password. Finish this course and find the take-away was another goal.
A link prompted me to check out Chris Guillebeau.com and his book, THE $100 STARTUP. I stayed up later and later because the laundry did not speak to me. No one called or messaged me. My spouse slept, after folding clothes. There were no dishes in the sink. I concentrated on my goals for two hours without distraction.
Since my sister died a few months ago, I also read Chris Guillebeau’s blog on life/death/humanity, You Can’t Live as if You Only Had Three Months to Live. Chris wrote what many would do/say; such as,
- I would give up my job.
- I would give up my time with friends and start on my bucket list.
- I would give up eating or eat special food.
- I would give up spending or save more.
Chris and I agree on his surmise.
“Instead, ask: ‘How would I live if life stretched on endlessly?’
When last I saw my sister, I had flown to stay with her for the weekend. She already had that six-month diagnosis. And she was giving away a few things to make more room for the necessary changes as she continued living in her home with added health services and her diminishing strength and mobility. Her simple life would stretch before her.
Prior to the diagnosis my sister had decided to create another chocolate wrapper poster. The first one was about 3ft. by 4ft. and created excitement and lots of conversation both during and afterwards. There were many unusual wrappers tucked under this and that on her kitchen table. I helped sort them and everything else in the piles so she could continue the project on a clean table.
We talked and read and laughed into the wee hours. We prayed Psalm 23. I helped her get ready for bed, which was a lift chair for her and a comfy bed for me. In the morning, necessities in the bath room took almost an hour. Then, I scrambled an egg with a dab of melted butter and a capful of milk and cooked it for one minute in her microwave, now moved to a kitchen chair so that she could wheel up and get it herself.
I knew my sister’s life was not long when I returned home, but the cancer moved at warp speed to her brain. Less than a month afterwards, she died in a hospice facility.
How do you live while dying? My sister watered her Lillies. She played her Elvis music. Her chocolate collage kept her hopeful. She had something to converse about with family and friends. She made them coffee; she gave love. She accepted help from her children; she accepted love. Her love danced in their eyes, as she lived on.