Keeping afloat in hospital

I watched a young mother phone her family from her hospital bed across from me.

The conversation was overheard in the darkness of the ward with about 10 beds. Full of those recently involved an accident or illness and an awful lot of elderly patients were in their midst. It was a group with which I was surrounded and I was kept awake at night by their groans of pain and sometimes excruciating cries of agony. Who knew that even a simple bed sore could cause every movement to be torturous? I grew to recognise the victim behind the drawn curtains. Their voices their groans and cries became familiar. Familiar but impossible to get used to. I don’t think we’re meant to lie and hear such suffering without responding in some way. And if we can’t respond by doing something useful then surely, we’re meant to respond in other ways? I think to be a human being is to be impacted by the suffering of others. If that does not occur, if there is no empathy then we’re all in trouble, deep trouble. 

The conversation started quite innocently she was telling her husband that she might have to stay another night in hospital, when they had been convinced that her release would be the next day. All her family members had been quite excited during visiting time that she would be back among them again not here imprisoned in the hospital ward with us. But a doctor had just informed her that her blood results were not quite as they should be and she would need to be another night tethered to a drip pumping medication through her system for hours. Devastated, she had phoned her husband late in the evening to break the bad news. He had sounded stoic. He was the one looking after their four-year-old daughter and probably had much juggling to do there, as well as keeping his young wife’s spirit high in this impossible situation. However, when he handed the phone to his daughter so that the four-year-old could say good night to her mummy, the four-year-old had been devastated. She cried. “I want my mummy! I want you here!” and just kept repeating the same thing again and again. Her mother was encouraging and bright and cheerful and said, “I’ll be there soon don’t worry it soon, it’s okay don’t worry, I’m fine. I’ll be home soon. I’ll soon be with you”, in a happy, enthusiastic voice. But the tears of the breathless four-year-old would not stop. The conversation ended and suddenly all the bravado that she had been bravely summoning drained away and she put her hands over her face and sobbed in the darkness. 

It’s heart-breaking at times this life. There’s not much anyone can do about that. But the least we can do is to be aware of the pain and the suffering and the hurt and not shut our eyes to it. What I wanted to highlight was how wonderful people can be in the face of such things. 

There was a Polish lady at the end of the ward who didn’t speak English and who tried repeatedly to engage with people with laughter with hand movements, but it’s difficult when you don’t know the language. Gradually, she became more subdued and more withdrawn. You could see the difference after three days her gestures became smaller and attempts to engage others stopped completely. Then, on the ward appeared a young doctor, not one of the ones who usually covered our medical ward, and he approached her bed and started speaking fluent Polish to her. It was wonderful to see her reaction at first incredulous and then this outpouring of words and sentences, talking excitedly. Her eagerness and happiness and opening of the floodgates was wonderful to behold. They chatted for about 10 minutes then he left. I wish he could’ve seen the lasting transformation his 10-minute visit meant to that elderly lady. It was one of those game changers and out of the sullen recluse emerged the chatty funny woman again.  

My next-door neighbour phoned to ask if I needed anything.  She was going abroad for a week but wanted me to know her husband was available for anything I needed. My other neighbour who lives opposite spotted me reversing out of our yard and ran over to ask about my relative in hospital.  Her concern was touching and she leaned in through my window and gave me a huge bone-crunching hug.  The neighbour on the other side stopped me on the pavement to present me with a huge cake yesterday.  It means so much to have kindness shown in difficult times.  I  make a mental note to be more attentive and responsive to those in need of kindness.

"Do not be content with showing friendship in words alone, let your heart burn with loving-kindness for all who may cross your path."

Abdu'l-Baha

Five minutes on a Post-it

A sweet American of mine friend died this week.  She was full of loving creativity and gentleness and was always kind and attentive. She was an art teacher and she created a haven of creativity in her class. The start of every lesson consisted of the same five-minute exercise every day. When the students entered they found a fresh small yellow little Post-it note stuck on each of their desks and every student had just five minutes to create their own masterpieces on this tiny insignificant square. 

In that five minutes of silence, felt tips, pens and pencils crafted gems, little beauties from out their souls. At the end of the exercise, she collected each post which had already been dated and signed by each author. These posts were carefully collected and kept in a folder with the student’s name. It meant she could not only view their work on that day but set it in context of a journey because it built up into a pile of posts in chronological order that allowed her to see the development of their craft. 

They were teenagers, full of angst, and on some days a student would simply colour in the entire square black, like a black hole only square. Or one frustrated student had covered the entire yellow Post-it note with the worst swear words they could muster. These had been scribbled with such intense force on the small paper that they could be read from both sides. Even these my colleague accepted because she could see them in context. Could see that a student that would colour in an entire Post-it note black one day could a month later produce the most exquisite bird drawing that quite took her breath away. 

Her acceptance of their output was unconditional but her careful collection and mounting them chronological order gave value to this creative output. She was able to make insightful comments on their report card because she could see the journey they’d been on with a broader sweep. For instance, she could spot after six months that the student had discovered three dimensions and perspective in a whole new light. It was only when she saw the Post-it notes one after another that she could really see the journey the student had been on and take pride in their achievement with them.  

Strangely how despair and distress of a student could become so apparent in such a short task.  The ones she really worried about were the odd student who left their Post-it blank and unused.  What was going on in their lives that even this tiny task was beyond them? It is rare now in the high-paced intensity and strict learning objectives of today’s teaching to give a student those five minutes of space to find themselves, to express themselves and to hone their craft. Teachers are often so busy stuffing students with valuable information that they can forget the root of the word educate is to ‘lead out’ not to put in. 

How clever she was to use this exercise to kickstart these student’s artistic engines and get them warmed up. Allowing them to find their voice in this tiny yellow window. Opening their eyes and hearts to all the infinite possibilities of choices in their lives. Reassuring them that there is always another day to hone your craft and that not even minutes should be wasted.  The passage of time was so short, just five minutes of their lives, that it screamed hurry, create, make, capture and learn more potently and urgently than the rest of the week put together.

I shall miss her dreadfully.  Even after she left Malta and returned to the States for cancer treatment she sent long lovely messages on WhatsApp about life.  She continued to paint and create right to the end.  In her own exhibition of art on Malta she gave the most moving presentation of her work I have ever encountered.  Speaking from the heart she mentioned her cancer, life and artistry with such sweet wisdom it awoke a spirituality in the audience.  It is rare to have such souls around.  One can’t be greedy and demand more time with such giants you just have to be so very grateful for the minutes with them you have been given.  

Grandchildren beat the heart alive

Grandchildren are the moist butter of life. 

They soak into the mundane existence 

and enrich life with flavour. 

Full of get up and go 

they inject energy into even old bones. 

They lubricate the seized-up thoughts of old age.

Stimulating thought and laughter 

their call for stories 

triggers your own forgotten creativity and joy. 

What can I say? 

This life is full of broken eggs and hurt, 

but this luscious butter 

beats the heart into a wonderful cake, 

soft, fragrant and fluffy. 

Baked with love it catches one’s breath 

and injects new life and laughter.

The final Fall

When there are no clouds, you can see with sudden clarity. 

The brilliance of the autumn leaves,

the rusty reds, glowing oranges take your breath away.

Fills your heart with awe

at all this abundance of beauty. 

How does the dying of some small appendage

of a tree deserve to be dressed in such finery? 

Perhaps we too, as we approach the end

should summon up acts and deeds 

that shimmer and take the breath of others with their radiance? 

For us all, the final fall is coming.

"The betterment of the world can be accomplished through pure and goodly deeds and through commendable and seemly conduct."

Baha'i Writings

We have become so efficient in killing each other!

My grandfather who fought in World War I (1914-1918) and came back injured but alive was one of the lucky ones. The total loss of soldiers in that war was between nine and 11 million and the death toll among civilians was between 6 and 13 million. It is disheartening to find as you examine the incredible death count from wars that the numbers have huge margins of error. In war time the loss of a human life doesn’t even get recorded accurately. But even the vague upper and lower limits that are estimated blow the mind. 

If the loss of life in World War I was not horrific enough it was followed by World War II (1939-1945) in which the loss of life was even higher. In World War II between 21 and 25 million military personnel died but the death count among civilians was a shocking 50 and 55 million.

I wanted to look at deaths in wars from roughly the year 2000 and the table looks like this.  

I find it disturbing that,

a. We no longer have accurate figures for deaths from war (huge margins of error)

b. We no longer get robust reliable reporting on atrocities from war zones allowing more injustices to be perpetuated (often reporters are not allowed in)

c. Wars can last decades and break out again and again

d. Civil wars are particularly bloody in terms of deaths

e. The fact that rushing to make war rarely solves any problems long term seems never to be recognised by any side

f. Some countries in particular, like Sudan, are plagued with conflict again and again. The UN has described it as “one of the worst humanitarian nightmares in recent history”

However, horrifying the loss of life has been in these regional wars, another world war (World War 3) would be several orders of magnitude larger than anything ever encountered before in history.  We have become so efficient in killing each other that it is genuinely hard to get your head around the figures! A Princeton simulation called "Plan A" calculated that a nuclear war between the United States and Russia could result in 91.5 million casualties in the first few hours!  

Consider human ignorance and inconsistency. A man who kills another man is punished by execution, but a military genius who kills one hundred thousand of his fellow creatures is immortalized as a hero. 

‘Abdu’l-Bahá

Godspeed!

I tire of me do you tire of you? 

All the plans to improve and refine feel like feather chisels on rock. 

The ‘me’ remains unchanged. 

Stubborn and dark, unflinching in the face of a mighty desire for change. 

At times there is a small movement the boulder begins to shift, 

to turn agonisingly and roll up the steep slope. 

You feel the excitement of real change! 

I may not carve on this granite surface 

but perhaps I can elevate it 

with my shoulder to the edifice,

I feel momentum build. 

You have overcome the power of inertia and gained traction at last. 

The heart is exalted, 

what is not possible now? 

Then, your foot slips,

the boulder jerks back and runs down the hill. 

Laughing at its sudden freedom. 

You sink onto your knees in despair. 

All that effort and there is the result. 

The granite ‘you’ is even lower down the hill than when you began. 

It’s hard to begin the trudge downwards to begin again. 

But you will! 

This constant effort will take time and break your heart many times. 

You will want to give up many times,

and grow so strong in tackling this task

that you will barely recognise yourself. 

Such is life, Godspeed!

Alchemy of love

My son attended a parent-teacher meeting this week and the P1 teacher waxed lyrical about his youngest child. She pointed out that he was exceptionally loving and kind. Always full of joy and eager to volunteer in activities. The teacher said that a new Spanish student who spoke absolutely no English had joined their class and our grandson had appointed himself her guide and led her from one activity to another by hand. Floored by all this praise my son pushed the teacher to let him know what areas my grandson still needed to focus on and improve. Reluctantly, the teacher pointed out that he had not yet mastered the skill of holding a pencil! How sweet was that Scottish P1 teacher to focus on only the positives. A hug to all the hard-working teachers whose kindness and perceptions help rear noble souls.

My uncle in New Zealand is practically blind and every Friday his in-laws hold an evening meal where everyone starts the event by stating one thing they are particularly grateful for that week. All ages participate even the three-year year-old twins.  What a lovely way to end the week in such a positive tone. My uncle’s contribution was his gratitude for a young man who had spotted my uncle trying to navigate his way into a toilet cubicle in a busy restaurant. Realising he was finding it tricky the young guy helped him locate the door handle and even opened it. Then, when my uncle had finished, the same young man waited outside the cubicle and escorted him to the taps and then the dryer. My uncle said this unexpected kindness filled him with hope for this younger generation. A big thanks to the youth out there who have not forgotten to care for the vulnerable and provide a lesson to the rest of us.

Finally, I attended the funeral of a dear friend of mine from Omagh this year. She was one of those quiet folks whose presence was always strangely comforting. The funeral was high in the mountains in a forest 7 miles from the town. I had to trust the Sat Nav to find it along twisting forest roads. The venue was well hidden along a path in the woods. Despite this, I was shocked to find the room was absolutely packed with people. In fact, the staff kept having to add extra rows of chairs, one after another as more people flooded in. Just when they thought that that was it, another crowd arrived to pay their respects. So eventually wall-to-wall with others standing in the doorway and corridors they carried in the coffin and the entire room rose as one to their feet in silence as she was carried to the front of the room. Speaker after speaker spoke about her kindness and quietness. How acts of thoughtfulness were practised by her as a normal routine that had touched so many. We all became aware of just what a giant of love we had lost. The feeling of gratitude for a life well lived grew. 

Much thanks to all those quiet, selfless souls that operate beneath the radar but work their special alchemy of love in hearts across the world.

"Do not be content with showing friendship in words alone, let your heart burn with loving-kindness for all who may cross your path."

ʻAbdu'l-Bahá