The Human Embodiment of Gratitude by Barbara Quinn

Growing up, my father used to tell me, “We’re all going the same place so you might as well enjoy the ride.” A little over a year ago he passed away at the age of 86 from a rare type of bile duct cancer. He did enjoy the ride.

My father worked hard, but always came to important functions. We took family vacations, ate dinner together every night, and he spent time with me, talking and being genuinely interested in my activities. He had boundless curiosity, and a ready smile. In college he was an usher at the Metropolitan Opera . He also was a Yankees fan. Now, I love opera and the Yanks, and I strive to enjoy the ride.

Till his last day, he joked around and kidded with us. His spirit was an inspiration, not just to me and my family, but to all who came in contact with him.

I was with him when he passed away. Death is not an easy thing to witness, and certainly is even more difficult to go through. But my Dad, the WW2 vet, soldiered on with incredible courage while I trembled by his side. I was alone with him when the priest came to give him the last sacrament. My Dad was religious, and I knew this would be a comfort, but he hadn’t said a word or opened his eyes for hours, and I wasn’t sure how aware he was. The priest gave him the sacrament and then to my surprise my father spoke.

He said, “Thank you.”

The priest’s eyes met mine. He asked, “Did you hear that?” I did. Oh, I did.

I tried to pull my hand away from my Dad’s for a second to wipe my eyes, but he squeezed it, signaling that I should not let go. I held on tightly. The rest of my family arrived and though my Dad didn’t speak again, we spoke to him, telling him how much we loved him, and that it was ok for him to leave. A few painful hours later, Dad drew his last breath.

I’m grateful to my Dad for so much. While he was alive he showed me the way, showed me how to live. And in death, he also showed the way, leading by example. It’s something to strive for, this being able to utter the words, “Thank you,” as your last. Can there be a finer example of gratitude?

Mother Earth, Father Sky by Kathryn Magendie

Dark clouds hovered over the distant Smoky Mountains. I stood on the porch, unable to take my eyes from the site of mountain, thundercloud, mist. As night descended, so did the storm—a furious slamming of wind and water against the roof and windows. Bedtime brought a dreamy smile before sleep. Several times during the night, I awoke to hear pummeling rain and snuggled deeper into my comfort.

Morning arrives, the storm has passed and Sun is rising to hide Moon—only Grandmother Moon and Grandfather Sun can match Mountain in bold dignity. As I head to the coffee pot for a cup of Deep Creek Blend, something calls, a familiar sound I can’t quite place. I sip coffee and go to the window facing our porch, which looks to the ridge across the cove, and over to those distant mountains. I cock my head to listen.

When I open the front door, there it is. There is the sound I have missed over these months, the one that had been muffled. The wild wild rush of the creek as it falls over and upon itself, as it tumbles down to the bottom of the mountain to spill into the larger creek, which spills into the river, which spills into the ocean. With winter’s bony branches revealing, I can see the boiling white water, the clear pools. Creek sounds roar mighty. Creek is gorged with rainwater!

North Carolina, like some of our sister states, has been in a drought. I watched the news as Atlanta officials prayed for water. I think how Mother Earth will provide; Father Sky will provide, as they see fit, as they are able. I know sometimes our own actions cause change, and I know as well that Earth will change on her own. I did not pray for rain, I waited for it. The waiting did not disappoint. Father Sky gave the rain and Mother Earth fed her creek. Thank you Mother Earth and Father Sky. In this year of gratitude, I will watch; I will wait for your gifts. In return, I will protect; I will appreciate.