Am so tired of “bucket lists” which always seem to be high carbon, consuming rather than giving. Then, tables turned, my myeloma cuts my future off. All the “one day” things I had parked for sometime way off have to be done or discarded.
Am not going to save the world, which is quite a relief. I compromise by recycling. Or write a best seller or climb Everest.
So what about a legacy? I remember my mother's mother, who was non-intellectual and cozy, but full of common sense and courage. And my father's father, who was brilliant and successful, setting up the Land Registry in England. He was knighted for his efforts. Odd: we talk about Granny still and a family argument can still be stopped with the words,”Granny wouldn't like this.” My grandfather, we never happen to mention.
So far, my efforts with the grandchildren have been limited: Sasha will never stamp on a caterpillar and Matt hands knives, handle first. It's a beginning. Maya now waves at the stop sign holder at roadworks because “How would you like to stand there all day?”
I won't see them grow up. But one last gift I can give them: I can, hopefully, show them that it is possible to face death with grace. I am not sure how, but I try to meet each day with hope and courage. I try to show them that what matters is not having or even knowing; it is love. Love given and accepted. That one's whole life should be lived as a creation of joy and love. I often think of trials Granny faced and feel her close to me in mine. So when, way down the road, life hits our grandkids in the face, they will know I have gone ahead and not be afraid.