When my husband, Bob, died very suddenly in January 1994, I received condolences from people I hadn't heard from in years: letters, cards, flowers, calls, visits. I was overwhelmed with grief, yet uplifted by this outpouring of love from family, friends and even mere acquaintances.
One message touched me profoundly. I received a letter from my best friend from sixth grade through high school. We had drifted somewhat since graduation in 1949, as she stayed in our home town and I had not. But it was the kind of friendship that could quickly resume even if we lost touch for five or ten years.
Her husband, Pete, had died perhaps 20 years ago at a young age, leaving her with deep sorrow and heavy responsibilities: finding a job and raising three young children. She and Pete, like Bob and I, had shared one of those rare, close, "love-of- your-life-you-can-never-forget" relationships.
In her letter she shared an anecdote about my mother (now long deceased). She wrote, "When Pete died, your dear mother hugged me and said, 'Trudy, I don't know what to say . . so I'll just say I love you.'"
She closed her letter to me repeating my mother's words of so long ago, "Bonnie, I don't know what to say . . . so I'll just say I love you."
I felt I could almost hear my mother speaking to me now. What a powerful message of sympathy! How dear of my friend to cherish it all those years and then pass it on to me. I love you. Perfect words. A gift. A legacy.
Bonnie J. Thomas
"A Cup of Chicken Soup for the Soul"
Editor: Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen & Barry Spilchuk
Wisdom of this day:
Whether you think you can or whether you think you can't, you're right! -Henry Ford
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Nothing but the Truth!
David Casstevens of the Dallas Morning News tells a story about Frank Szymanski, a Notre Dame center in the 1940s, who had been called as a witness in a civil suit at South Bend.
"Are you on the Notre Dame football team this year?" the judge asked.
"Yes, Your Honor."
"What position?"
"Center, Your Honor."
"How good a center?"
Szymanski squirmed in his seat, but said firmly: "Sir, I'm the best center Notre Dame has ever had."
Coach Frank Leahy, who was in the courtroom, was surprised. Szymanski always had been modest and unassuming. So when the proceedings were over, he took Szymanski aside and asked why he had made such a statement. Szymanski blushed.
"I hated to do it, Coach," he said. "But, after all, I was under oath."
David Casstevens
"Condensed Chicken Soup for the Soul"
Editor: Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen & Patty Hansen
"Are you on the Notre Dame football team this year?" the judge asked.
"Yes, Your Honor."
"What position?"
"Center, Your Honor."
"How good a center?"
Szymanski squirmed in his seat, but said firmly: "Sir, I'm the best center Notre Dame has ever had."
Coach Frank Leahy, who was in the courtroom, was surprised. Szymanski always had been modest and unassuming. So when the proceedings were over, he took Szymanski aside and asked why he had made such a statement. Szymanski blushed.
"I hated to do it, Coach," he said. "But, after all, I was under oath."
David Casstevens
"Condensed Chicken Soup for the Soul"
Editor: Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen & Patty Hansen
The Waste in Worry
If we were to keep a record of all the things we worried about during a given period of time, we would discover, in reviewing them, that the great majority of our anticipated problems or troubles never come to pass. This means that most of the time we devote to worrying, even the constructive kind that prompts us to try to come up with a solution to what is troubling us, is wasted. Thus, we not only caused ourselves unnecessary mental anguish, but also took up valuable minutes and hours that could have been spent elsewhere.
To avoid this, it is often necessary to subject potential sources of worry to the coldly objective and analytical light of reason. Once, sortly before a major concert before a standing-room-only audience, a member of Arturo Toscanini's orchestra approached the great Italian conductor with an expression of sheer terror on his face. "Maestro," the musician fretted, "my instrument is not working properly. I cannot reach the note of E-flat. Whatever will I do? We are to begin in a few moments."
Toscanini looked at the man with utter amazement. Then he smiled kindly and placed an arm around his shoulders. "My friend," the maestro replied, "Do not worry about it. The note E-flat does not appear anywhere in the music that you will be playing this evening."
The next time we find ourselves in the middle of worrying about some matter, we might be wise to stop and ask ourselves what the odds are of the problem really coming to pass. We may be able to go on to something more constructive.
To avoid this, it is often necessary to subject potential sources of worry to the coldly objective and analytical light of reason. Once, sortly before a major concert before a standing-room-only audience, a member of Arturo Toscanini's orchestra approached the great Italian conductor with an expression of sheer terror on his face. "Maestro," the musician fretted, "my instrument is not working properly. I cannot reach the note of E-flat. Whatever will I do? We are to begin in a few moments."
Toscanini looked at the man with utter amazement. Then he smiled kindly and placed an arm around his shoulders. "My friend," the maestro replied, "Do not worry about it. The note E-flat does not appear anywhere in the music that you will be playing this evening."
The next time we find ourselves in the middle of worrying about some matter, we might be wise to stop and ask ourselves what the odds are of the problem really coming to pass. We may be able to go on to something more constructive.
A Room With a View
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window. The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.
The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.
As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."
Epilogue...
There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy.
Wisdom if this day:
The words printed here are concepts. You must go through the experiences. -Carl Frederick
The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed. One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.
As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."
Epilogue...
There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy.
Wisdom if this day:
The words printed here are concepts. You must go through the experiences. -Carl Frederick
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