Before Jim died, he wanted to write about each of the components of the ALS-Turbocharged Living Tool. He never got to finish that work. Jim was an accomplisher. He did not like unfinished tasks. So, it has been bothering me. Like seeds left unplanted, or a dangling participle.
We worked so closely on these concepts; explored them together, wrote about them together, tried to live them together. But I can’t do what he would have done. So I haven’t touched this task. Until that bee. That B52 bomber bee, with the eyes. (picture here). Somehow the way that bee hovered and looked at me. If it could talk it would have said something like, “For God’s sake, Peg, get on with it! Bird by Bird. Shitty first draft (channeling Anne Lamont whom he loved). Just write something.”
So, finding it impossible to say no to that bee, I am going to try, over time, to complete that task, bird by bird. I am going to start with some building blocks. I need to build up to the actual ALS-TLT elements. Also, I need this particular building block because gratitude happens to be the flip side of grief, so I feel particularly versed at least in dealing with gratitude’s difficult twin.
A TALE OF TWO TODDLERS: GRIEF AND GRATITUDE
Gratitude has always been my favorite positive emotion. I think I like it so much because it has nothing to do with me. As a perfectionist I have been plagued by a keen awareness of all the things I have done poorly, should have done, or should have done better. Gratitude launches me out of that hole, at least momentarily. To be grateful I have to do two things: first, I have to notice that something good has happened. Second, I have to notice that this something has nothing to do with my particular prowess or effort. In fact, it has to do with others, be they humans or trees, or birds or God. All I have to do is notice, and be grateful. Once I start noticing, the opportunity for gratitude is endless. Gratitude for the star magnolia that trumpets the beginning of every spring.
Gratitude for how the birds have figured out how to build a house and attract a mate. Gratitude for little Rowan’s sweet discovery of how he can now say the word “Sit”—emphasis on the “t”. He does not realize this, but he has a genetic predilection for loving this word. His mother Erin, at exactly this age, discovered a nearly identical word and was equally delighted in saying it over and over. The only difference was that she added an ‘H’ after the ‘s’. Pronounced it perfectly, with same emphasis on the ‘t’. very pleased with herself. Jim and I found it difficult to be grateful for that particular milestone.
I thought I was reasonably well-grounded in a gratitude practice, but Mr. ALS presented a direct assault on my ‘attitude of gratitude”. I found it hard to be grateful for what we were going through when flooded by the loss and grief that Mr. ALS brought to our lives. Out of desperation I even tried, at times, to tag on the phrase “Well, I guess it could be worse…”. That rings pretty hollow in ALS land, mostly because it always does get worse. Francis Weller, in his book The Wild Edge of Sorrow, calls grief and gratitude “two sisters”. At my stage, I think of them as two toddlers. When toddlers first start to play with other toddlers they start out in parallel. They have no idea how to interact with each other, and they instead engage in parallel play; they sit close, they watch each other with some wonder, spurred on to expand their own play by watching the other. As in parallel play, gratitude, cultivated in parallel, can buoy the grief, can expand our experience of life beyond just the grief or loss or challenge we are facing. It can help us notice that life is also full of wonder, and love, and beauty.
As the toddlers mature, they begin to interact and intertwine their play. As our experiences of grief and gratitude mature, they begin to intertwine. I can personally attest to this. After months of parallel play I began to see that the depth of grief is inextricably intertwined with gratitude for the deep love that Jim and I shared. I came to see that grief and gratitude each inform and affect the other, in particular that the grief deepens the gratitude—for everything. But toddlers are fickle. One step forward and then they fall down. One day they can say a word and the next day not so much.. And so they practice. “S*IT” over and over. How do you practice gratitude? It’s actually easy—and it works. Some ideas:
- Write down three things you are grateful for before you go to sleep each night.
- Write a gratitude email every day
- Write a letter of gratitude once a week
Team Plews-Ogan has chosen to each do 50 acts of gratitude over the Go50 week. Rowan is already practicing. He kisses each tree as we walk up together from the stream behind our house. Gotta love those toddlers.
So grateful for you Margaret and for the wisdom you share with us about grief and gratitude – yes, two sisters or toddlers learning from the other. In a weird way, grief grounds me to to the loss I have experienced during my life, but also binds me to the love I received and deeply felt – and continue to feel – from family and friends who have left this world (my brother Steve, Jim and so many others). What I have experienced is that with time, grief turns from sadness and a deep sense of loss to an even deeper connection with our loved ones – and this is where gratitude flourishes…Keep writing! Can’t wait to read more ! Abrazos!
Beautiful Peggy, thank you for writing about grief and gratitude. Your words land perfectly…thank you.
Such gratitude to you, Peggy, for the difference you and Jim and your family have made in our lives and in the lives of so many others! And you continue to make that difference with your wise and writing – thank you!
Thank you, Peggy … and thanks to the bee for lighting a fire under you. With Hunter’s and my adventure with Alzheimer’s (or vascular dementia, or whatever it is …) grief is hard to recognize until it explodes periodically. The decline is so gradual it is difficult to see. A deliberate visit with gratitude is due. Thank you for reminding me of that. Keep writing!
Thank you, Peggy. I’m so happy that you have decided to take on this task. Your writing is wise and beautiful, just as Jim’s was. I will very much look forward to reading your future blog entries.
This is so beautiful and so true! The sentiments speak deeply to me and thank you for reminding me about the beautiful work of Francis Weller! I hope that time is being kind to you Peggy and that you in turn are also being kind to yourself.
Easter blessings & thankful for a light hearted recollection of your life with Jim & family. I am grateful for the new life in Spring & for our family.
So beautifully written, Peggy. Thank you for sharing this and for sharing your inner self with the world. I will read this piece over and over again – as the universal truth within it is greatly comforting and awe-inspiring.
Beautiful! Thank you for sharing and your dedication to this work and his legacy.
Thank you, Peggy, for this beautiful reflection so full of wisdom, insight, humor, honesty, and of course — love.
Oh Peg. I’ve been holding onto this piece for a long time, not because I didn’t want to read it, but because I knew it would ask something of me—to stop, to feel, to remember. And I didn’t want to rush through that. I live so much of my life by lists and tasks, but your words aren’t something to check off—they’re something to sit with. Today I finally gave it the time it deserved, and it reached me deeply. The way you hold grief and gratitude side by side, like two toddlers learning to play, is a gift to everyone who loves you. You are a steady light, reminding us to notice beauty even in the hardest places. I love you.