The kindness of strangers and my undying gratitude.

August 24, 2014 / kategresham / 4 Comments

We had big storms here last week and the State Emergency Services have been endlessly busy.

The SES big truck was called to my house once. It was my very first returning- to- work half- day after long months of absence with CFS. A big day.

Maybe Bear isn’t looking all that chastened.

I drove into my carport and could hear a cat in distress. Bear had jumped onto the hot water tank in the corner, miscalculated and fallen head first down the small space between the tank and the wall. Too small for him to right himself, there he was, wedged head first, back legs in the air, crying. I could just reach him but not well enough to get a hold. I started crying…and panicking.

Help!

What does a woman do in such a moment but call 000? Yes, I was assured, someone would help. In the meantime I phoned back, sobbing, to my workplace. Long ago I had taught two of the women who worked in the front office. I have presumed a lot on this association. One of them answered and was her usual commonsensical self. She would phone the father of one of our school families who lived in my small hamlet. ( This was neither the first nor the last time that this wonderful group of women would care for my sobbing self.)

The father was contacted, arrived with his family, then with that brisk practical sense of country people he set about undoing the tank, emptying the hot water and freeing one distraught and muddy cat. His very sweet wife dealt with one extremely distressed and grateful woman while the children offered pats on the back and sympathy. (I have quite a special relationship with those children now.)

Emergency services to the rescue!

It was then the Emergency Services pulled up, a big truck with all the bells and whistles, to find one sobbing woman, a chastened, and dishevelled cat, a hot water service being re-assembled and the family of my rescuer standing about making kind noises. These busy people were understanding about a wasted trip and my small hamlet enjoyed the spectacle.

Bear the cat insisted on several lottery tickets being given to his rescuer (I don’t think he even liked cats!) and he continued to send him Christmas cards. Nowadays I have a special bond with his wife and children. The time Bear was caught behind the water tank became a favourite story in their classes. Children enjoy seeing their teachers displaying less than their usual competence. It makes us more human.

Once again I was offered the opportunity to accept generosity and kindness with humility and great gratitude. These people expected nothing back and were happy to help.

I’m a slow learner. I keep learning the same lesson- that I can ask for help. A mentor once told me to reach out- isn’t that asking for help? I look back and can see so many times when I didn’t know I could even ask. What a difference there could have been!

And it’s a memory in my collection of stories when I have been cared for, unexpectedly. The stories I take out when the world seems a little bleak . The stories I keep in my gratitude book. A large collection and a large book.

What are your stories? What are you grateful for? Can you ask for help?

Reflections on the death of a beloved animal

July 30, 2014February 25, 2016 / kategresham / 11 Comments

Have you ever made the decision that it’s time to end the suffering and misery of an animal in your care?

Yesterday I took my cat Bear to the vet to discuss his deteriorating condition and consider my options. We decided it was time to end his suffering and he was put to sleep.

I hate having such power and I love having such power. I hate being the one who makes the decision, the one with that ultimate power. I question my motives: Am I choosing to do this now because I don’t want to watch him vomiting any more? Is he really fine enough to enjoy more days of sitting In the sun and sleeping on my lap? How do I tell when it is time, when it is a kindness to end misery? Is it a convenience to me? Am I tired of cleaning up after him? Am I doing this for myself or am I doing this for him? I wrestle with the conflict.

But I love being able to choose to end his pain, his yowling as he’s about to vomit, his episodes of projectile vomiting, his scratching and biting when I inadvertently touch painful areas, his weight loss, his of eating of kitty litter crystals, his look of misery and longsuffering, his decline… and I love being able to give freedom from suffering to a creature I have loved and cared for.

Does ultimate power always come with an equal knowledge of its awesome responsibilities? I hope it does. This is no decision to be taken lightly. I cannot imagine what it would be like to be faced with such power and choice over the life of a loved human. If it is this difficult with an animal how could I possibly ever contemplate a similar situation with a dearly loved friend?

A few weeks ago a friend said to me when I told him Bear was dying, “Well, that’s why you don’t have pets. There’s all the grief when you lose them.”

My response was: “That’s why you do have pets. They teach us to grieve as well as love.”

I learnt this years ago as I loved and cared for a dog from puppyhood to old age. He offered participation in the progress of life in a shortened version and I realized children as well as myself, could learn what they would later experience with their most cherished, treasured human beings. If we are to love then we will experience pain and grief and loss. We can’t have one without the other. I used to fear grief and I suppressed it without even being aware. I feared it would overwhelm me, that I would not survive it. My dog showed me I could grieve. I could love without reservation, feel the loss of that creature and survive. And now I cherish his memory. Never would I regret having shared his life, and the same with Bear- I received far more than I gave.

Angie, my shared co-living partner and the other person who has known Bear best, was here yesterday and so could come to the vet’s for our final visit. She said that Bear had had a good life- an abandoned cat who hung around my house eventually staying to become part of the household. I thought about this. Yes, I hope he had a good life, but more than that he was a precious gift… and I thought some more.

I will die happy if my life is a precious gift for even one person.

What more could we hope for?

Regrets or Letting go.

June 25, 2014 / kategresham / 5 Comments

Writing101. Daily Prompt: Groundhog Day. If you could relive the past week, would you? Would you change anything?

I read this and hear Frank Sinatra singing “Regrets, I’ve had a few…”

but I also hear Edith Piaf “Je no regretted rien…”

Would I want to relive the week? No, but I do want to learn from it.

These two singers represent two extremes of looking back. My mind turned to regret. It’s too easy to look back with regret and from there to judge ourselves harshly. It’s a long way from self acceptance.

But how do we learn if we don’t look back on the past? And how do we do that if we don’t examine the past critically? I know from working in schools how important it is that children learn to accept responsibility for their actions and to accept responsibility for the consequences. It seems to me that it’s crucial to distinguish between regret and accepting responsibility, learning from our actions and moving on.

I’m in the fortunate position of not working full-time and so am in the process of changing old patterns and making choices in this new set of circumstances.

Now, I have clear priorities and I know the things that matter to me. Do I always do these things? Do my days fit my imagined ideal? No, of course not. I’m human and therefore I am not perfect.

I’m really good at making lists.

In the last twelve months I’ve spent a lot of time recovering and settling, reflecting and dreaming, making lists and not doing what’s on them,…and yes, I’ve fallen into times of self – criticism,those moments of “I should have…” One of the lessons I keep on learning is to trust and accept myself, whatever state I’m in, to get rid of judgement. I don’t find that easy. Perhaps it’s another human paradox that we must balance acceptance with change, that is, changing the habits and patterns that no longer serve us.

I’m learning that if I leave exercising until late in the day, I probably won’t do it. I’m trying things out- when’s the best time to write? How do I juggle the cleaning, the cooking…all the demands that maintain one’s life? How do I manage what must be done with what I most want to do?

The best way for me to discover what works best is to look over the past week and reflect on it. When did I do the most significant things? What worked? When did time slip away from me? Benjamin Franklin used to start the day with the question “What good can I do today?” and end it with “What good have I done today?”

Let the day go.

My gut feel is that as I spend time in the evening being grateful, then the shape of the days will come.

Relive the week? Relive the past? No thank you! But reflect on it? Yes. Learn from it? Yes.

And never give up, never give up, never give up.

Rick Hanson has great things to say about regret and gratitude.

I’d really like to know what you think.

Nighttime Rituals.

June 24, 2014June 24, 2014 / kategresham / 5 Comments

Writing101. Daily prompt.

More and more of us go to bed too late because of sleep procrastination. What are the nighttime rituals that keep you up before finally dozing off?

“Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,

Beloved from pole to pole!”

Yes. yet another cat picture! But, oh how he sleeps.

Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner had it right. Sleep, it is a blessed thing. Without it, it’s difficult to function, without it I stumble around in a haze of exhaustion, my constant focus on staying awake and making it through the day. I look back on my life now and wonder how I ever survived. How did I stay in jobs? How did I stay sane? Why didn’t I get help?

What’s the response if you mention you can’t sleep? For me, there were several:

You just need to pull yourself together. Anyone can sleep if she only tries. It’s all in your mind. Just tell yourself you will sleep, and of course you will. It’s not nearly as bad as you think…stop whinging, pull yourself together…

I’ve heard them all. So I lived with it. Then one morning, driving to work (late as usual), I heard a specialist in sleep disorders interviewed. It was a moment of revelation- he described me! I had a sleep disorder, therefore I could get help.

Imagine the power of that moment, the sense of liberation I felt.

I saw a hypnotherapist. I slept.

I shall never forget the next day. I spent it in wonder, marveling at how I felt. If I felt like this, I could accomplish anything. Fly to the moon! Climb Mt Everest! No limits! Maybe those people who slept well, always felt like this?

It wasn’t permanent. I struggled on. Naturally a night person, I went to bed late, took hours to go to sleep and stumbled out of bed, jet-lagged, every morning. I rarely did the things I knew might help me sleep.

Then, a few years ago… brain surgery. My sleep was destroyed. I persevered and endured and heard stories of others whose sleep had been destroyed following brain surgery.

Until… crisis. I could endure not one minute longer.

An emergency visit to the doctor I had recently found ( a miracle in itself) followed, a demand to be hospitalized and sedated and insistence it happen that day. He took the necessary steps. I was sedated that day and hospitalized the next. (And my undying gratitude to my wonderful friend who stood steadfastly by me through this time- thank you Brian. )

So, nighttime rituals? routines? Yes! I have evening routines. I’ve learnt their importance.

No television, no phone calls, no computer after a particular time;
mindfulness practice and walking a few hours before bedtime;
the same bedtime every night and the bedroom only for sleeping and loving;
And the other usual routines- showering, teeth cleaning etc…. and for me attending to the needs of a stoma.

I’m not that good at sticking to these routines, even though I know the consequences of neglecting them.

And yes, I have rituals. I find the routine of bedtime soothing and settling, but the rituals lift it to being somehow hallowed.

Let your light so shine.
A candle, shining in darkness.

My rituals?

Settling; becoming aware of my posture; taking some time to focus on my breath;
Lighting a candle and and placing flowers on my small table if I have them;
Remembering those I love; practising a loving-kindness meditation;
And reflecting on the day with gratitude. There is always something for which to be grateful.

Do I always do this? I confess that I don’t. I have no excuse and I choose not to beat myself up about it. I know some of the habits that will disrupt the flow – I must tape any TV programs I want to watch and it’s better if I don’t have a novel waiting to be read. I seem to have little discipline.

And evening shadows fall across the sky.

Writing this has reminded me of the beauty of my simple evening. Tonight I will start my routines early and I will finish the day with candles, beauty, quietness and a grateful heart.

Country Life.

June 8, 2014 / kategresham / 4 Comments

Some of my loot!

I’ve just arrived home from our monthly farmers’ market. It’s a lot of fun, although I always buy much more than one human being could possibly eat. There’s so many yummy fresh vegetables and fruit, home-made jams and pickles, organic meat, seedlings and much more all begging me to take them home and grow them. Chooks and ducks, rabbits… once I was offered a belted Galway calf (oh, the temptation!). For a person who yearns for the large, productive, rambling and beautiful garden, for the paddock with an alpaca or two, a donkey or two, maybe a pretty cow, a dovecote, chooks, ducks, a dam, a creek with a stony bed and maybe platypuses, deciduous trees, an orchard every aromatic herb ever…it’s an endless source of temptation! You get the picture?

(The reality is a yard that is too small for even one alpaca or donkey or cow; there is no dam or creek; the garden is still in the planning stages; maybe there will be chooks; maybe we’ll get a paddock.)

But there’s still the monthly market. I’ve been living here just over a year and so I’m familiar with most of the stallholders. There are the wonderful women from landcare who run the community stall- when I have an excess of produce I will sell it there. I go into the local Landcare office with all my questions and they provide advice with endless patience.

John’s Japanese pumpkin. Isn’t it beautiful?

Then there’s John from Chichester- probably three hours away. He’s a large genial man, dressed in King Gee overalls with a broad grin. He gives me practical advice on saving seeds, on how to grow everything. He’s a country man of several generations so his advice is grounded in what has worked. His produce, like all the others, is picked that morning and will last for weeks. Goes without saying that everything is delicious.

This week I meet a young couple who are pickling the vegetables they grow. They also have some ketchup, some harissa paste, some fermenting- all from their own garden and all organic. They ooze their dedication and love of what they’re doing. I make a note to remember the ketchup for Christmas presents. They also have Jerusalem artichokes and guavas. I have to buy them because my grandmother grew them. As I eat them it will be a chance to remember her.

Jerusalem artichokes and guavas, in memory of my grandmother.

I don’t need fresh macadamia butter or oil from the couple with the macadamia business. The macadamia butter is probably addictive it’s so delicious. And, it’s good for you!

I buy some pecan nuts and make a note to myself: visit Uncle (about an hour away), to gather some pecans for myself. He has so many they fall to the ground, ungathered. Maybe I’ll meet my niece there to talk about bees and bee-keeping. My uncle lives on my grandparents’ farm and my grandfather kept bees. My niece who is experimenting with dried honey products, wants to see her great-grandfather’s bee hives and talk about bees.

I’m glad to see the family with the local, organic oranges is back. It’s orange season and these are sweet and juicy. Almost as good as the ones were on my father’s orange trees.

I meet my neighbours and we have a coffee. I’ve talked to everyone and had a wonderful time. Once again I relish the sense of well-being from that comes from the simplicity of life in the country. And I’m grateful.

Mornings

June 2, 2014June 2, 2014 / kategresham / 7 Comments

The cat’s purring on my lap and I’m sitting, hot cup of coffee in my hand, gazing out the window, my thoughts coming and going. The sun is warm through the windows , the sky is blue and I don’t have to be anywhere.

One of my morning sofa choices.

I do have a commitment with myself however and that is to rapid write for at least twenty minutes every morning as soon as I wake up. Now I interpret the “as soon as I wake up” (which is the usual suggestion) to mean after I’ve managed to stagger out of bed and find a cup of coffee.

You see, I’m not much of a morning person. In fact, I’m absolutely not a morning person. I’m in some sort of somnolent state when I get up and as long as I don’t have to do anything or go anywhere, this is fine. I like to sit, gaze into the distance and take my time. I can run into difficulties if there’s a morning person in my space- you know the sort. They wake up, full of energy, ready to take on the world. If I’m going to snap at someone that’s when it will happen. I try to make it clear to anyone who may be around me in the mornings that it’s best if they don’t speak to me and absolutely best if they don’t ask me things, like “What would you like to do today?” or “What are your plans?”

This morning, as is the normal pattern at the moment, it’s just the cat and me. A cat is the perfect companion for my mornings, being happy to sit and drowse with me. I have one complaint. He can’t get up and make more coffee and toast and that’s when a morning person is useful -by this stage of wakefulness I would attempt and wheedle coffee and toast from them. After all, who am I to disturb a cat? It’s a privilege to be chosen by a cat as a sleeping mat.

Part of the morning view.

I cherish mornings such as this when I can wake gradually, write, gaze out the window and (when I’m ready) dislodge the cat and make my own coffee and toast. I revel in the pleasure of it and feel so very thankful. I don’t have to struggle out of bed, force myself into the shower, grab something to eat, find what I need for the day, get dressed and rush out the door (unless I’m on a morning work stint).

How wonderful to be able to start the day feeling grateful. It hasn’t always been like this, nor will it always remain so, but I shall cherish these moments of peace and slowness.

An Ordinary Day

May 20, 2014 / kategresham / Leave a comment

Well, maybe not so ordinary. I’ve just spent almost three weeks relieving in a local school library, and when I work all my routines go out the window. All I do is go to work, come home and get ready for the next day. So now I’ve finished that block I’m focused on writing, publishing some posts, exercising, practicing mindfulness… AND tidying, cleaning, vacuuming, gardening… catching up on long overdue paperwork….

You get the idea. I had breakfast sitting in the sun on the front verandah, making lists, with all my different colured textas and pens. Arrows, asterisks, underlinings, highlightings….What would be the best use of my time? How can I make sure I get the most important things done? What are the priorities?

Eventually I decide that I’ll feel best if my home is clean and tidy; chaos is unsettling and clean floors are a pleasure. Somehow, deciding this gives me permission to just get on and stop worrying about wasting time.

the calm of clouds in a blue sky.

It’s a beautiful day. Sunny, warm, still, blue; small clouds decorate the sky. This town is set in a ring of hills, but not buried in a valley. It has the best skyscapes and since I’ve been here I keep driving out of town to take sky photos.

There’s washing on the line. I’ve finally planted the struggling peppermint geranium cutting – it may still survive. It’s been sitting in water on the window sill for?? weeks? months? and I’ve kept promising myself that I’ll plant it today, but then, there’s always those priorities… But now, it’s planted!

the pleasure of washing, drying in the sun.

I’ve sprayed the aphids on the roses with soapy water. And I’ve sat in the sun drinking cups of tea, chatting with my neighbours. I confess, I’ve also spent some time gazing at the sky, watching birds, checking out the way the gum looks against the blue of the sky… in other words, daydreaming and simply being glad I’m alive.

The vacuuming isn’t done, nor is the house tidy but I feel relaxed and happy. Of course the question still remains: how do I manage to do what needs to be done and also those things that are the most important? I read other writers who juggle the demands of caring for a child while earning a living as full-time writers. I am in awe of their discipline. I’ve recently read a TED blog about a woman who was bed-ridden with chronic pain and chose to work as a TED translator during that time. There are plenty of role models of people who achieve in spite of the odds.

A pretty end to a pretty day.

But today, I will revel in my freedom.

Celebrating generosity

April 12, 2014April 12, 2014 / kategresham / 4 Comments

The thrill of a wonderful surprise! And even better, it leaves a glow.

Two days ago there was a ring on my doorbell, and there was my lovely parcel delivery man. Now I’m expecting a parcel so I wasn’t surprised to see him, but I was surprised to see two cartons.

He said something about wine but that wasn’t what I’d ordered so I didn’t take any notice. Refused his offer to carry them inside, couldn’t easily lift them and realised… they were cartons of wine! Huge excitement! This was only the second time in my life anyone had ever sent me wine. The last time it was champagne as a house moving present. That was pretty special.

Now I had a fairly good idea of who had sent them and I think a surprise is even better when you can work it out. There’s the pleasure of the unexpectedness, of how perfect the choice is, and of the generosity. I didn’t realise how generous it was until I opened one carton, to find not six, but twelve bottles. I had been sent two dozen bottles of wine! Wow! Talk about feel spoilt! It isn’t just the delight from such a surprise , but the feeling of being valued and of being worth such a gift.

Maybe it’s serendipity, but I’ve been thinking about generosity and unexpected gifts. During a very long, traumatic and scary hospital stay, several months of which were in Fort Worth, Texas, I received many, many gifts, often from people I didn’t know.

My veins are very narrow, making it difficult to insert cannulas or extract blood samples. I’ve been remembering one time in particular, when a young medical intern was attempting to get a syringe in. Now I was used to nurses and doctors needing to keep on trying, sometimes giving up. I’d learnt to gaze out the window, think of other things, grit my teeth and endure it. This time, I had reached the end, for the first time ever. As I was about to ask him to stop, he did. We talked a moment and he left. It was one of those times when you truly meet someone- I guess the experience was intense for both of us and we were probably around the same age. I was far from home, desperately ill.

they’re not yellow, but they sure are beautiful.

The next day, a huge bunch of yellow roses, an absolute abundance of roses, was delivered- no name, just love and best wishes. I knew who had sent them. I was overwhelmed- really, the scraping at my veins hadn’t been that bad. . They carried me through the next difficult hours. How could I not continue to hang in when I could look at those roses and be reminded of compassion and kindness. So, young Texan doctor, I think Dr Macdonald, all these years later, I have never forgotten you and those roses. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

One lesson I need to keep learning from such memories is to be generous myself. And generosity is not only about things that cost money. It’s the gift of time when someone needs it, even though I may not think I have that time to spare. And it isn’t simply taking the time, it’s giving it without counting the cost. I forget about the little things: sending the card, writing the letter, making the phone call, asking how someone is.

May I always remember to give back, I, to whom so much has been given.

And thank you for flowers, wine, visits, cards, listening, money when I ‘ve been desperate… the list goes on and on.

Solar Day!

April 6, 2014 / kategresham / 1 Comment

they arrive.

It has finally arrived! After months of worrying over quotes, driving people to distraction with endless questions, bombarding one of my brothers for information and trying the endless patience of my co-house owner …I settled on the supplier (yes, in consultation with my co) and accepted their quote for installing solar. Then, it was waiting for the installation.The original panels were no longer being made…postpone the day…then…It was raining! postpone the day…then…other people had to be done first…postpone the day…then…The weather forecast for Friday was for rain and storms! Would it happen?

Aren’t they beautiful?

The men arrived. Looked rainy. Nail biting. Work began. And continued…slowly, or so it seemed to a waiting woman who had been saving her washing, the ironing, the vacuuming…(some people who know me well, might ask “what’s new?”). They worked. Tedious business, this. Very hot, especially in the roof cavity, they say. And they worked. I go out, come home, still working. Even hotter. Four-thirty, and yes, the panels are on, but the micro-inverters are yet to be connected and no, they are sorry, but that won’t happen today. My house looks like it has solar, and it will, but the washing still waits.

Suit the house, don’t they?

Maybe tomorrow? But it doesn’t matter! It will happen and this household will be less dependent on the use of fossil fuel, which has always been the aim. The release last week of the IPCC report makes the use of alternative sources of energy ever more crucial. I haven’t wanted solar simply to save money on my energy bills and I don’t think we will save much initially. But I have worried about the state of our planet for a long time. I remember sitting in the movie theatre after watching “An Inconvenient Truth”, not able to leave. I was crying too much. There really wasn’t anything new in the film, it was the sight of our blue planet suspended in space. I loved her fiercely and I hadn’t realised how much. I love this earth; I love all the bits; I want to see as much of her as I can; I love her creatures; the glimpse of a whale is joy and delight; the thought of polar bears starving to death because of what we have done I find almost unbearable.

What if they were gone forever?

Because it isn’t just about us. Yes, the report contains dire statements about Australia- more extreme heat, more bushfires, more storms and severe floods. Think of the suffering of the animals every time there is a bushfire, every drought, every heatwave. I remember Stephen Fry in the series “Last Chance to See” a BBC 2009 production, filming rare and endangered species. I was moved to tears when Stephen bottle feeds a baby rhino and declares to the camera “Now I can die”. I feel I am not doing nearly enough. I still drive a car. We will grow as much of our food as we possibly can and we will share what we have with our neighbours. I will work to create community here where I am. I am learning to live frugally and simply. BUT…

Five minutes from my front door. I am grateful every day.

We have a beautiful home, let’s do whatever it takes. After all, changes in our lifestyle can’t hurt us and may make all the difference!

Breathing

April 2, 2014April 2, 2014 / kategresham / 5 Comments

Breathing. Now there’s a subject. What is there to say about breathing? It’s as natural as taking a breath? or…

Once during my long hospital experience I became obsessed with breathing and asked everyone who walked into my room “How do you breathe?” Inevitably, the response was something like “in and out”, just “in and out”. No one stopped to ask the (obvious) question of why I was asking such a question. But that’s another story.

I am in the middle of an eight week mindfulness program and have just done a full day silent mindfulness retreat. Rather focuses the mind on breathing and breath!

I’ve been on the edge of meditation practice for more than twenty years In the eighties. friends did Transcendental Meditation workshops. Later, friends went on Vipassana retreats and Mindfulness practice. Buddhism, with its focus on practice became more common.

My partner did two TM programs with his workplace. One misty, rainy night, looking over a country town, he turned to me and said, “Close your eyes, with each breath repeat this…” and guided me through a TM session. I remember tears rolling down my cheeks and knowing there was something precious about this gift. Since then, I have practised intermittently- the times I’ve needed the practice most being the times I ‘ve been most intermittent.

Sitting on my back deck this morning, looking over gentle green hills and a sky filled with gorgeous clouds I found myself reflecting on myself and breathing. (I know that sounds ridiculous, but stay with me.)

How many times are we aware of breathing? It’s so fundamental because without it there is no life, we are our breath. Or it just happens, as all those people said to me back in that hospital room. But then and other times I have been intensely aware of it. Complete focus on breathing stopped me from giving up during that long experience of illness.. In extreme pain and discomfort, tubes everywhere and surrounded by machines, I said over and over to myself: ” I only have to survive this breath… and this breath… and this breath”; and I kept on going.

And then twice, that breath stopped. Have you any idea how terrifying it is not to be able to breath? To feel yourself falling into unconsciousness? The second time I clutched at the sleeve of the medical registrar saying “don’t leave me!” I remember nothing else, until, much later, the awareness of a tube in my mouth and a machine clunking in and out, my parents holding my hands.

But my experiences are so small. One of my brothers was an asthmatic back in the days when doctors believed the condition may have been psychosomatic. My parents were told not to pay it any attention. I would lie in bed listening to him struggle for each breath, not knowing if there would be one. I cannot imagine what it was like for that little boy.

As for now? I know to be grateful for each breath I take and I shall continue to spend time each day in the formal practice of mindfulness. Who knows what that will bring?

Take a moment to be aware of your breathing and be grateful for simply being alive.

katesclippings

ideas that are dear to my heart.

Gratitude