Serendipity

Here's a little serendipity: I was contacted quite some time ago by the editors of Elephant Journal and just received notice that this article from a past blog post was published on their site today.

A Gift Received

Because You Can (Gift-giving and Perspective)

I saw a comment posted on Facebook today about whether or not a parent is obligated to give an end-of-the-school-year gift to a "bad" teacher.

That got me started thinking about - shocker, I know - perspective.

While the majority of the teachers my kids have had over the years have been good, my kids have had their fair share of crappy teachers over the years, a few of whom didn’t deserve a gift other than a dog turd and/or a swift kick in the behind.  I will admit that I didn't feel any sense of obligation at all to give those teachers a gift - and sometimes I haven't given an end-of-the-year gift for other reasons, ranging from my own manic year-end schedule to not being able to think of anything I considered to be "a good gift" to caving in to pressure from my kids not to "embarrass" them by giving their teachers a gift because they thought it would seem like - to put it kindly - obsequiousness.

Obviously, though, my perspective on LOTS of things has changed over the past few years, and I’d like to offer this perspective for consideration: we may never know what battle another person is fighting.  And sometimes it may be better to fight fire (or incompetence/rudeness or whatever the issue may be) with kindness.

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Not that someone has to spend a bunch of money or time on a gift for every teacher, especially one who has been less than ideal for a child, but maybe giving a teacher just a little something and/or a card saying thanks could make a difference for her – which may, in turn, improve her outlook and have a rippling effect on others around her – her future students or even other teachers who may have some sort of interaction with the child of that parent and other kids in the future. 

When I was growing up, my mom didn't like for my sisters or me to say that we hated something or someone.  At some point, I argued that I really did hate something - but she insisted that it was better for me to say I disliked or didn't prefer it instead.  My mom, my sisters, and I still sometimes half-jokingly say that we "don't prefer" something or someone, even today as adults.  It's a good point that choosing to use words that are less harsh may be a better idea, a point that intertwines with perspective and kindness.  (Maybe a parent who hasn't liked her child's teacher could send that teacher a thank-you note ... and could just think secretly to herself that the thing she's thankful for is that the school year is over - or that the child will surely appreciate having a good teacher after her experience with one that was not preferred.)

Parallel to the bad-teacher situation is a bad-boss scenario.  I've help a few positions in my lifetime that have unfortunately been under the supervision of someone that let's just say I did not prefer.  My distaste for these people has been for a variety of different reasons, ranging from a simple personality conflict to ethical considerations (more on the latter topic is coming up in a future blog post).  In the midst of each of those situations, I have not had the perspective that I do in retrospect; I now feel an ironic sense of gratitude towards those bosses because my experience with each of them has certainly made me value an effective supervisor - and because having those experiences has served to teach me how not to do things whenever I am in a position of leadership.

I'm not advocating giving a gift to get something in return, and I'm not pretending to be overly nice or forgiving or anything like that.  I'm just seeing this as one way to react to such a situation.  From the way I see it, not giving the teacher (or the boss) a gift probably won't be noticed by that person, but taking the "high road," erring on the side of kindness, giving just because you can - that's something that can have an impact.

How to Help

One of my nieces is known in our family for her love of candy.  We laugh when we think back to the year when she was two and whenever anyone asked her what she wanted for Christmas she simply said, "Candy."  No amount of prompting or urging could convince her to expand her Wish List that year; over and over, she insisted in her well-articulated, tiny voice that all she wanted was candy.  She was as clear as I'd ever seen a person be about what she thought would make her happy that holiday season, and she savored every bit of candy that she got as a gift.

I saw a little girl eating a big sucker today and thought about my niece and her quest for candy, which, thankfully for her parents' dental bills, has tapered off over the past decade or so.  I thought about just how incredibly happy a kid can be with something as simple as a single piece of candy.  Hell, I thought, sometimes a piece of candy makes me happy, too, especially if it comes in the form of a gift from someone.  

I like to give gifts to people, and I put a good bit of effort into trying to think of a gift that is special for each recipient.  One of the things that I think is the most fun to give is a gift for a new baby.  A thought that strikes me, though, every time I am giving a baby gift is that it's kind of ironic that giving such a gift to the new parents generates work for them, based on social obligations: after they receive the gift, they expect and/or are generally expected to write a thank-you note, which, as anyone who has ever been a new parent knows, is one of the many things for which they really don't have time at that stage of their lives.

Many times when I've been wrapping the baby gift I've considered including a note with the gift to tell the new parents that they are off the hook for writing a follow-up thank-you note, which perhaps they would appreciate as kind of a "cherry on top" type of bonus to the actual gift.  That way, receiving the gift does not create an additional duty for the probably already overworked parents.  

When someone has cancer or another serious illness, people are often eager to do something to help out.  Having been on both the receiving end of that equation as well as the "What can I do to help?" end, there are a few things that I have learned about supporting individuals in need, the most important of which is probably this:  Don't just ask the person or the family if they need anything; ask them what they need.  

Admitting that help is needed can be really hard, and so it's best not to wait for them to ask for assistance.  Assume that they need help - and ask what kind they need.  In some cases, it may even be a good idea to think of specific things to offer, like doing their laundry or their grocery shopping, providing meals, babysitting, pet sitting, etc.  One friend of mine paid for a house cleaning service to go to the home of someone she knew while that person was in the hospital; another one sent her husband over to that house to cut the grass - one less thing for that family to worry about.  There are lots of things that can be done to take stress off the family and to allow them more time to do whatever needs to be done to care for the person who is ill - or just to spend time together instead of running errands or cooking.  If the person who is sick and/or the family say they don't need anything, I recommend respecting their wishes but checking back often to see if that changes.  Sometimes people are too proud to ask or they can't think of anything at that time - but situations can change in an instant and the need for help can arise overnight.  Sometimes it's good to establish contact with a member of the extended family - or a close friend or neighbor - and let them know you are willing to help.  One of my parents' neighbors saw me pulling out of the driveway of their house early one morning when my dad was sick and flagged me down to exchange cell phone numbers with me.  Later, after Dad had been taken to the hospital by ambulance in the early hours one morning, that neighbor texted me to say she had heard the sirens and would be happy to walk my mom's dogs or whatever else we needed.  

Another thing that can be good to do is just to let the person or the family know that they are being thought of, especially if whatever you do to convey that message comes with no strings attached, like the "No Thank-you Note Policy" for the baby gift.  There are many different ways to go about doing this, ranging from texting or mailing a note to that effect (adding "no response required" if appropriate) to sending an anonymous gift or card.  

Or here's another idea (and this brings the topic back around to ... CANDY!):  Sugarwish!

As their banner says, the webiste www.sugarwish.com offers an easy way to send a "sweet" thought by allowing the customer to purchase a gift card (actually an e-card) that will be sent to a recipient who then uses that to select their favorite candies from the choices on the website.  Once they've made their selection, the candy is shipped to their house.  And here's the potential bonus: it can be done anonymously, which will eliminate the thank-you note obligation on the part of the recipient.

SWEET!

When my dad was sick, I came across a website with a program similar to the concept behind Sugarwish; the idea, shared by cancer patient Jerry Kline in his blog, was that a pager (also known as a beeper) could be purchased and given to the person who is sick, with the phone number given out to any interested parties so that anytime someone prays for or thinks about the sick person they can call the number of the pager and enter "777" or their zip code followed by the "#" key to indicate their intent to that person, without requiring any response on his/her part.  I found the concept of the Prayer Pager to be brilliant; it allows people to send a message to let the person who is sick know they are being thought of, at any time of the day or night.  The pager can be turned off if the person wishes not to be disturbed during a certain time, and a page does not obligate the person to do anything in return.    


After reading what Jerry had to say about the program, I contacted the program administrator and asked if I could sign up for my dad.  Unfortunately, though, the program had run out of funding and was no longer being offered.

Since then, though, I have come across a website that offers something similar to the program Jerry used; it's called Pager Prayer.

I guess the point of all this is that there are things that can be done to help an individual who is sick and/or his or her family and that sometimes even the little things can be helpful and meaningful in such a situation.

Priceless Memories

Eight years ago, my sisters, our husbands, and our children traveled from our corners of the country to meet at my grandmother's house in Alabama.  The day after we had arrived, our group of eleven piled into cars and drove across the state line to Wild Animal Safari in Pine Mountain, Georgia.

When we got there, we found out that there were 15-passenger vans available for rent to drive through the park - and the vans were zebra-striped!  We knew it would be much more fun for all of us to be together in one vehicle to travel amongst the animals who roamed free over the many acres there.  We paid the admission and the rental fee and then headed towards our Zebra Van; as we were boarding, my brother-in-law Peter walked over carrying a giant bag of animal feed.  He said it was a better deal to buy in bulk instead of purchasing individual containers of food for each of us to feed to the animals in the park.  I will never forget the look of wonder on Grandmom's face when she saw Peter carrying that huge bag; she laughed excitedly as she took her seat in the van and then said, "The animals sure are going to LOVE us!"  

Somehow it worked out so that my brother-in-law David took the wheel in the van - some of the time with my niece Daly on his lap - and with my daughter Molly in the passenger seat in front.  The rest of us sat on the bench seats in the back with our windows rolled down, ready to feed the animals as David slowly drove along the gravel road, stopping frequently as wildlife approached the van.  

There was a great variety of animals in the park, from antelopes to zebras.  We all had a blast, including and maybe especially Grandmom, who smiled ear-to-ear the whole time that we were there and laughed hysterically when a big slobbery bison leaned in through the window and tried to lick her in the face!

CLICK HERE TO PLAY VIDEO IF IT DOESN'T SHOW UP IN THE WINDOW ABOVE.

... or try clicking HERE if those options don't work ... YouTube is being bad about playback on iOS devices!

We had such a good time there that day that a couple of years later my husband, my daughters, and I went back to the park with Grandmom.  The second time, when it was just the five of us, she was moving much more slowly than the first, and we just drove through the park in our car since we were a much smaller group.  After we had driven through the safari part of the park on our return trip, we went in the gift shop.  Grandmom, who, as I've mentioned, lived on a very tight budget, thanked us for taking her and for paying for her admission, and then she said she wanted to buy a souvenir for us to take home.  Always the practical thinker, she picked out a pair of salad tongs with a zebra carved into the handle of each one.  When she gave them to me after she had paid at the counter, I noticed the price tag said $19.99.  That was a lot of money for a person of her income to spend on a non-necessity, I knew, and she knew that I knew it.  I looked at her, thinking that I should decline the gift and try to get her to return it, but then she said, "Thinking I was going to be able to take a vacation somewhere this summer, I had some money saved. Today has been as good as any vacation, and I don't need anything else, so please accept my gift."  

The zebra salad-tongs, today

A few weeks before, Grandmom had stepped into a hole in her backyard while hanging clothes on her clothesline and had broken her leg.  My dad had tried for years to get her to let him buy her a dryer, but she insisted that it was a waste of money and she didn't need it.  After all, she said, she had raised a family and had lived without one for eighty years, and who could argue with that logic?  When she had fallen, she laid in the yard, unable to get herself to a phone, for about an hour until her next-door neighbor pulled up in his driveway and saw her.  He had called the ambulance and then my dad, and my parents had come to be with her while she was in the hospital.

When I'd called the next week to check on her, she told me that she had a walking cast on her leg and that she would appreciate some help with a couple of things so she hoped we could come to visit her soon.  Of course, I arranged to get there as soon as I could, worrying that things must really be dire if this independent woman needed help taking care of herself.  When my husband, my daughters, and I got there, though, we found out what she actually wanted help with, and it wasn't technically self-care: she wanted assistance with pulling her refrigerator out from the wall in her kitchen so she could do her scheduled quarterly cleaning behind it and with cleaning up debris that had fallen into her yard.  Other than that, she had it covered, she told us, and so we did those chores and then decided to head to the Safari Park the next day.  (Side note: Grandmom had told us to put any limbs, sticks, or leaves from her yard on the curb across the street from her house instead of in her trash can, but I had dumped a bucket of semi-wet leaves in there anyway, thinking it didn't really matter.  As we walked out to the car to leave for the park the following morning, she cooly lifted the lid of her garbage can and peered inside, and then she said, "Somebody put debris in here!"  I had to admit that I had done it, and she said, "Well, next time remember to put all of that stuff on the curb where it's supposed to go; that's what I do!"  Ouch!)

We had a lot of fun on our return trip to the park, but not nearly as much as we'd had the first time when we had gone as a big group.  I have treasured those salad tongs since that day, though, remembering fondly both of our trips there with Grandmom and remembering how she so generously spent her vacation money to buy them for us.

Several years after our second trip to the park, Grandmom had a stroke, and her physical and mental decline began.  Many, many times when we visited her after she was in the nursing home, we talked about how much fun we'd had at the Safari Park; in fact, when her condition had progressed to the point where she couldn't carry on a conversation, we often described things from the day when all 11 of us went in great detail, in an effort to help her to remember that wonderful day and to help her to focus on a much happier time.  

On the night before Grandmom died, as my mom was sitting with her holding her hand, my sister Jennifer called Mom's cell phone and asked Mom to hold the phone up to Grandmom's ear.  Although Grandmom had been unresponsive for several hours before, as Jennifer again tried to use her words to paint a picture for Grandmom of that great visit, Grandmom smiled and her breathing pattern became more relaxed, and I have no doubt that that happy memory was one of the last things on her mind as she transitioned out of this life.

"Not too many people can say they've been kissed by a bison!" Grandmom said. 

The Hitchhiker, Part 1: The Gift of the Story

As I have learned since my dad went on ahead, one of the greatest gifts that can be given to someone in grief is talking to him or her about their loved one: telling a story that involves the person who has died, sharing something you remember about that person, or talking about a quality that person had or a deed he did that you appreciated can be a priceless treasure.  It doesn't have to be a significant account; sometimes something funny or unique that person did is just what the person who is grieving needs to hear.

Not long after my dad died, my mom, my husband, and I went to the Mid-South Grain Association meeting in New Orleans, or simply "Mid-South," as my dad called it in general conversation.  Dad was in charge of organizing the convention there every February, and we went after he died to represent him in a way.  My mom kept up with the administrative duties that she had assisted Dad with for many years, but, as I came to find out, it was as helpful for us to be there amongst many people who had known Dad for years - some for decades - as it was for them to have Mom filling in at the registration desk.

The highlight of the trip for me was listening to one of my dad's long-time friends and previous coworker talk about some of Dad's antics from "back in the day."  Some of the tales I had heard before, mostly from Dad himself, but others I had never heard, and I felt comforted by all of them; it felt almost as if I was getting a piece of my dad back for just a little while.

Like a lot of people, Dad was a work hard/play hard kind of guy.   But the thing that I think made him unique in that area - at least from what I have gathered from seeing him interact with people professionally and from listening to what others have said about him in a business context over the years - is that he was often able to make the work environment fun for himself and for others.  For starters, he never hesitated to laugh at himself, and his interest in everyone around him was genuine.  Never did he miss an opportunity to say hello to or to compliment or express interest in someone else; the way he assumed that pretty much everybody had good intentions somehow seemed to result in that becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.  He delighted in clowning around when time and the situation allowed; I don't know that he learned about the benefits of fostering a positive work environment in a formal setting, but he certainly applied the principles all the same and always seemed very popular with his employees because of it.

"Cotton Row" on Front Street in Memphis, Tennessee

Here's the story that my dad's friend told us from back in the early 70's, when my dad worked at a company with an office that was located in downtown Memphis:

One Friday, some of Dad's clients had come to Memphis from out of state, and he was in charge of entertaining them that night.  My mom had driven with my sisters and me to her parents' in Nashville for the weekend, and Dad was planning to drive to meet us there late that night after he had taken the customers out on the town.  He worked until closing time and then met them at a restaurant down the street from his office.  As the story goes, the dinner turned into more of a party than Dad had expected, and when it was over he returned to the office since he had parked nearby.  Evidently, he was trying to ward off the headache he thought he'd be getting the next morning and so he walked over to his desk to get to his bottle of aspirin.  Unfortunately, though, the floors were in the process of being redone, and Dad left footprints on the adhesive backing that had been laid down in preparation for the tile that was going to be installed the next day.  Apparently there was much laughter the next morning and later some friendly ribbing about the fact that everyone could tell who the culprit had been since the tracks lead straight to his desk, where several aspirin tablets were spilled on the desk, and then back to the exit door.  

As Dad himself later told the story to his friends and coworkers, after he'd gotten into his car and then started driving on the interstate headed towards Nashville, he realized that he'd had too much to drink to be driving.  As luck would have it, soon after that he saw a hitchhiker on the side of the road. Necessity being the mother of invention (and of innovation), Dad pulled over and rolled down the passenger-side window to ask the guy if he could drive and where he was trying to go.  "Sure, I can drive," the guy said, and then he added, "I'm hoping to get to Nashville tonight."

"Well, get in, then," Dad told him, probably smiling from ear to ear and thinking he had struck gold. "I'll be asleep in the back; wake me up when we get there!"

I doubt he told my mom about the details of that trip for quite some time after it happened, and it wasn't until after his death that my sisters and I heard the story.  I could picture it happening though, and hearing the tale was a much-appreciated gift, one that I will always treasure.  And it wasn't Dad's last interaction with a hitchhiker either, ...

To be continued ... 

Shifting Perspective in Grief

An article ran today in the Huffington Post's Healthy Living section that may be of interest to anyone who is grieving or even who knows someone else who is suffering from grief:

Griever's Gold: Cherished Memories

The advice given in this piece is reiterative of some of what I've written about in this blog, especially the way the author launches into her list by saying, "The following five techniques can help a griever shift perspective."

The insight about the way people who are grieving consistently indicate that they would not trade away memories of their loved one in exchange for having the pain of their loss erased is interesting, I think, a different kind of spin on the idea that, no matter how dire or tragic one's situation seems, it's always a wise perspective to realize that things could be worse.

I also like the way she talks about shift and how it tends to occur in grief over time; it's really quite incredible that way comfort seeps into our lives to help (not to heal, I don't think) with the rawness of the pain thrust upon us when we lose a loved one.

The third item on the author's list, "Share stories with other people," reminds me of the quote that affected me so much when I saw it hanging on the wall of the grief counseling center where I went not long after my dad's death: 

Every grief needs a thousand tellings.

Although this may not be true for everyone or in every situation, I have found the "telling" to be helpful in my own grief process.

And finally, the fifth item, "Give thanks for the gift of this person in your life," which is my favorite on her list because it is totally dependent on one's perspective: instead of feeling only sorrow and anger for the loss of a loved one, one can choose to be grateful and happy for having had him to love at all - and to have experienced the impact of that person AND to have the honor of carrying him forward.

Every time I see this portrait of my dad standing in the redwood forest, I think of the word "IMPACT."

Ashley Davis Bush, who wrote the article for the Huffington Post, is the author of a book about grief that I highly recommend: Transcending Loss - Understanding the Lifelong Impact of Grief and How to Make it Meaningful.

A Gift Received

"The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit." ~Nelson Henderson

GENEROSITY is central to the practice of many religions and cultures and manifests in many ways.   It is a practice - and a concept - that we continue to learn about and to consider as individuals and as groups of people.

Before my dad got sick, I viewed generosity mainly in terms of giving money, material goods, time, and/or attention to those in need; honestly, donating was something I did because I felt it was something that I should do.  Maybe, in some ways, I even thought that being charitable would bring about some good karma to me, give me a pass on hardships, and other things in this vein.

Growing up in a church, I’d heard all about giving and was very familiar with lessons from Sunday School about how it’s better to give than to receive, laboring to support the weak, and refreshing others through generosity so that we ourselves may prosper.  I’d done some reading about the idea of giving in general and knew that Buddhist principals of generosity, Jewish beliefs about the way of giving, and philanthropic views of Hinduism and other religions as well as various cultures like the Native Americans who believe in the circle of life - all seem to be based on similar ideas, mainly that meritorious effects come from being generous. All in all, from my viewpoint at the time, I generally considered myself to be a person who gave to others in a generous, unselfish manner.

I’m not sure exactly when or where, but somewhere along the line as part of what my family went through with my dad’s illness and subsequent death, I have come to have a different perspective about having a charitable spirit.

I no longer think it’s right just to use The Golden Rule (interestingly also sometimes referred to as “the rule of reciprocity”), to do unto others as you would have them do onto you, as a guide.  From my perspective, people should show kindness and generosity to other living beings just because we can, and that’s what we should be teaching younger generations.  Not because we want others to help us when we are in need, not because we think that will be our ticket into heaven, not to make someone proud or to impress somebody, and not because doing something for someone else may get us a mention in the newspaper or even as having been "a good person” in our obituaries.

Our spectrum of motivation should not be linked to a reward for doing what we know should be done, nor should it be done to avoid a consequence for not.  Self-interest should in no way enter the equation, only the interests of others and of humanity in general.  Regard for others is ingrained in the majority of us (or it should be), and thus benevolence should also be part of our nature and should not require a burden of guilt, a threat of exile, or a reward of attention, power, popularity, or anything else.  There should be no cost-benefit analysis in doing what we know is right.  In short, we should help others because we can, not because we feel we should.

A few years ago, before my dad got sick, I had a friend who became very sick.  Those of us who knew her felt terrible about what she was going through, and we desperately wanted to be able to do something to help her as she struggled through treatment and relapse. The woman was very humble and really did not like attention, and she said it embarrassed her when other people gave her things or did things for her.  Each time I saw her, she thanked me profusely for whatever relatively small thing I had done for her or her family last, and many times she blushed and stammered around in an effort to convey her appreciation.  In turn, when she would do this, it would make me feel uncomfortable, and I often left feeling guilty and sad that she felt that she had to shower me with thanks.  It felt as if I had burdened her instead of giving her a gift.  No matter how hard I tried to stop her from lavishing me with praise and gratitude, she insisted on carrying on, and a couple of times she even said that she didn’t feel worthy of the support being given to her and her family.  It became kind of a struggle between us over time, which was obviously not at all the way I intended for our interaction to be.  Unfortunately, her health continued to decline, and the last conversation I had with her before she went to the hospital for the last time was a back-and-forth exchange just like the ones we’d been having the whole time she was sick.  We didn’t express our feelings for one another or talk about anything meaningful because we were too busy thanking each other, and I think the talk left each of us feeling as if we weren’t really able to get our point across to the other one.  Here's what I learned from that experience, though: For someone to feel the gift of giving, one must be willing to receive.  And that lesson has fed into my thinking on the whole subject as my personal experience has broadened over the past couple of years.

As I’ve mentioned before, there was much kindness poured onto my dad and my family while he was sick, not just in actions and in materials goods but in messages and thoughts.  Throughout my life, I’ve heard much talk about the kindness of close friends and sometimes (I suppose because it’s even more surprising to us when it happens) even about the kindness of strangers. But what about the kindness of those people who exist in between? Those people who we know and see, but not very well or very often. What about these people we call acquaintances?  To me, during my dad’s illness and after his death, those are the interactions that surprised and affected me the most because it was obvious to me that those people didn’t help because they felt they should or because of what they were likely to be rewarded for doing but because they could.

Here’s something else that I realized when my dad was sick: to be able  to do for others is a true blessing.  One who does so out of inner joy instead of outward compulsion or obligation is truly blessed.  If I give to someone else for any reason other than simply for the sake of being able to be generous, I am worse off than the person in need, by my own choice.  If I choose to take joy in the tasks I am fortunate enough to be able to do and to embrace the opportunity with devotion and gratitude, it is I who is being served and who is receiving a gift.

This new perspective, one that has come partially from being on the receiving end of generosity and partly from looking at things in a different way, as I have done since my dad’s passing, doesn’t necessarily make me want to be more philanthropic than I was before, because I think I was already charitable whenever I could be.  However, it makes me look at the opportunities that I have in my life to give to others as a blessing, and, perhaps more importantly, it has helped me to find the words to explain to people whom I have been fortunate enough to be in a position to help in a way that works better to facilitate their understanding of the exchange that goes on between us; it is I that owe them the gratitude for allowing me to help, not the reverse, and denying me the opportunity to do so denies me the chance to receive the blessing of giving.  And I know without a doubt that the benefit of the philanthropy is much more to the giver than to the receiver, thus placing the receiver in the position of being a giver himself.  It has become clear to me that I am receiving a gift whenever I am in a position to support another living being, and I am completely clear on why I am providing that help and on why I am so grateful to have to chance to do it: because I can.

One person can make a difference, and every person should try.  ~John F. Kennedy