Starting here, what do you want to remember?
Anyone who’s written with me over the years knows I often find inspiration from the words of William Stafford, who, for me and for so many who love his poetry, “offers a unique way into the heart of the world.“ His words resonate, and I return to his poetry time and again, discovering a line or two that invariably speaks to me. This morning was no exception. I rose at six a.m. as I always do, treasuring the solitude and quiet of early morning. As I walked into the living room I saw the seventy or so greeting cards displayed on our book shelves, all sent by family, friends, colleagues and students as a surprise for my husband’s 75th birthday. J., though loving, is reserved in emotional expression, and faced with another reminder of age, was less than enthusiastic to celebrate the day. The cards came from as far away as India, Europe, Canada, and across the U.S. He was, for a few moments, speechless, disbelieving that so many people would honor him with their cards and letters. I watched as he read them, one by one, laughing at the humor, but with tears in his eyes. Starting here, what do you want to remember? Not, I hope, the fact of advancing age, but rather, the evidence offered to him that his life was—and is—full, rich with people who think of him with affection.
I think it’s difficult, perhaps as we age or when life strikes us a blow, to remember the gifts of our lives. When I was much younger, I welcomed each birthday, each new year as an opportunity to start anew, revisit good intentions not quite realized and turn them into action. Another year in front of me held promise, opportunity, and new adventure. There were times marked by personal tragedy, illness or losses that I was happy to see end, and I turned my back on them with a sigh of “well, thank goodness that’s over,” fixing my sights on the year in front of me with all its possibility for something better. I was always looking ahead.
Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?
I was waiting for the better to come, but it’s different now, for J. and for me. I feel a mixture of nostalgia and reluctance to have time move so quickly. I try to avoid reminders of our advancing years and the sometimes regret that I haven’t accomplished all I set out to do. It’s a mixture of looking back or, as I contemplate that foreign concept of “retirement,” feeling anxious about what might lie ahead. I forget, as I know my husband sometimes does, to remember what a full life I’ve led—and that I am still very much living in the here and now.
But I am more aware of the fragility and uncertainty of life. My brushes with cancer and heart failure, the men and women who, weekly, write out of the struggle and hardship of cancer, have taught me how precious life is. I am more attentive to the present than I have ever been, much more inclined to remind myself to pay attention, to live each day fully and find the joy in the small gifts life offers daily. I return to Stafford’s words as a reminder.
When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life -
This morning, I wrote to remember the look on my husband’s face as he opened the box of birthday greeting cards from so many people whose lives intersected with his. But as I looked up from the page to the window, an iridescent flash of color caught my eye. It was a ruby throated hummingbird hovering just outside the glass, red and green feathers glistening in the morning sun. It was a reminder, as if on cue, reminding me how important it is to stay attentive to the gifts of now. As Stafford asks us,
What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?
(From: The Way It Is: New and Selected Poems, Greywolf Press, 1999)
Try writing this week by beginning with Stafford’s question: “Starting here, what do you want to remember?”