Gratitude in Simple Moments

If I look back on my childhood, my 20's and frankly, half of my 30's, I can see that I was missing the ability to appreciate life's small, everyday moments as blessings. My mother raised my brother and I with the concept that blessings and gifts came in big ways. Literally a huge doll or dollhouse, a significant recognition, or a financial whirlwind were things that meant you were blessed. My husband on the other hand was raised differently. Gratitude could be present in homemade gifts, the way the light streamed across someone's face or kind words. I did not understand or relate until a couple of years ago.  

You think you appreciate the mundane until one day you really know what it means for things to touch your heart, to feel joy, in the deepest parts of you. 

This evening, my husband made my daughter and I a beautiful dinner. I relished every moment. I set the table with white ceramic plates. No utensils were used as we ate our vegetarian Indian meal. The spices of fennel, cinnamon and curry that wafted the air, hit our mouths with hot flavors. The more I breathed, the hotter my mouth got until I turned the fire down with handfuls of rice and gulps of water. The naan sopped up the sauce preparing me for our trip to India in October. I realized our Monday evening dinners as a family were getting fewer and fewer. My daughter will soon be off to a university in California. 

After cleaning up, I looked at my cat, Maya, who shows signs of moving into the final stage of life. She stopped cleaning herself a few months ago. Today, her eyes started looking dull, like the light of her soul was leaving her. She snuggled into one of our dog beds not moving. I thought of all those moments I took for granted, even those naughty funny moments like using a ficus tree as a bathroom in front of my husband when we started dating. As I pet her, gave her water, and fed her food bedside, I realize how grateful I am to be able to share these last moments of her life with her. 

It may sound odd to say that one can find gratitude in the death process. To be a witness to her passing, her vulnerability, and for her to let me serve her in what little way I can-it humbles me more than I can say. 

With dying pets, I have changed diapers, cleaned up accident after accident, served food and water bedside, carried them out for bathroom breaks, chanted, prayed, given Reiki and did all of those mundane tasks I did for my daughter when she was an infant. 

I wonder how present I was in my daughter's childhood. I hope that she can continue to emulate my husband and find those simple joys now and not have to wait until she is in her 30's. 

Life is beautiful. We just need to be present to recognize it. 

"We can learn to rejoice in even the smallest blessings our life holds. It is easy to miss our own good fortune; often happiness comes in ways we don’t even notice." Pema Chodron

Feeding Your Soul

Tonight, standing in our kitchen, my daughter brewed a cup of coffee for herself while I sipped on hot cocoa. The temperature outside had dropped. Spring had quickly decided to go back into hibernation. I needed something warm to drink. She needed caffeine to finish a paper. We snacked on air-popped popcorn my husband just made for us.

My daughter relayed how she was having great dreams. So great that in the morning, she didn't want to wake up and deal with the reality of papers, exams and waiting to hear back from colleges she applied to for the fall. I suggested doing some self-introspection and recognize the blessing-that her mind protects herself in such a way that it manifests the opposite of how many of us deal with stress when we sleep. Most people, including myself, have stress-filled dreams or nightmares. As a psychology major, I thought she would be on board with this idea.

"But I've had this happen to me three times already," she said about going through this phase. She said it puts her into this tailspin of worrying more.

"Well then," I replied, "how about you think about what would make you happy if you were 100 years old and on your death bed." Not the average bedtime story moms tell their children.

"Yeah, but I worry that if I failed a test or paper and then failed a class, then I would have to report it to the colleges I applied to and then I might not get in and then I would be stuck in Pennsylvania..." she went on. She, like many, saw greener pastures in places other than home. For her, it was California.

"Yes, but that's not what you would be thinking about on your death bed. What do people think about? They don't think about what college they went to or what kind of job they had. They don't think about the car or house they had or how much money they accumulated. That's all consumption. Think about what Bhante Sujatha and other monks say. Suffering comes from attachment. All those attachments are from consumption. And you can't take your house, your job, your money with you when you die and they weren't with you when you were born. When people die, they think about how much they loved."

"And how many people they hurt," she continued.

"Yes, and the adventures they had or didn't have. They think about what filled their heart."

"So, I should think about what feeds my soul," she said connecting the dots with such ease. Which was then followed by how brilliant I was. I reminded her that she is the one that figured it out, not me. She was the one that realized that what feeds your soul is what you think of at the end of life. Those are the things that matter the most.