Cultivating Compassion and Beauty
By Nita Gilger
The stage 4 colon cancer diagnosis came as a shock. My dad had not been experiencing symptoms until he did which took him by ambulance to the ER. What followed was surgery and a long, yet short, 3 1/2 years of extending his life with chemo, radiation, and even some experimental drugs. He was courageous and inspiring to all those around him including me. His main concern each day seemed to be to enjoy and co-create beauty. He acted with compassion for others at the core of it all. Always the gardener, he now only had a small patio space and a flowerbed at their condo where he and mom relocated to be near my family in their later years. But trust me when I say, no one could have planted more flowers inside and outside their home than my dad. Many of those flowers ended up in vases to be shared with neighbors and the medical staff who cared for him so dearly. He reveled in the beauty, the butterflies, and the hummingbirds. He walked the nearby trails as long as he could just to soak in the trees, squirrels, and nature along the way.
Near the end of his journey, he called me one fall day to tell me he had ordered and received some bulbs that needed to be planted so that tulips and crocus plants could burst forth in the spring. By then, he was in a wheelchair to go places and on oxygen 24/7. The hospice doctors said he had only a few weeks left at best. Even so, dad was insistent that these bulbs be planted. He wanted to plant some bulbs in his little flower bed and many more at my home. I was working full-time and doing everything I could to stay afloat. The stress and demands of life were weighing heavily on me. After days of his persistent asking for the bulbs to be planted, I finally relented and called some friends who liked to garden to assist with this project. Trust me, there were a lot of bulbs. He, of course, supervised the entire planting. As I carved out time to make this gardening expedition happen, I finally asked him why this was so important. Because we had many honest conversations about death, I even went so far as to say, "Dad, why are you
insisting on these bulbs being planted? You know that you will most likely not be here in the spring." He responded, "Honey, you are right. I do not have much time left at all, but you do. And, when spring comes, you will enjoy the beauty and so will many others who pass by." Dad died before spring came but he was absolutely correct. His lessons of compassion and beauty bloomed mightily in the spring. These same lessons bloom in me today--17 years later. I give thanks for his love and example every day.
I thought of dad's example in reading about compassion. His concern for others was something very precious. He did not spend much time thinking about himself. He understood that the more we think about ourselves in an overly-focused way, the more suffering we will probably experience. When we think of alleviating others' suffering and offer compassion and care, our own personal suffering is lessened. He was always thinking of others asking 'how can I help'? Cultivating beauty and compassion did not take away my dad's pain but I think it made it more bearable. For him, and for us, compassion is like the oxygen we really need to live fully into whatever days we have left. Even a few hours before he died, he had one question for the oncologist. It was, "Did all the experimental drugs I took make a difference? I just hope that I helped out with the research so that others may not have to go through this." The doctor took his hand and lovingly said, "Yes, Elmer, you made all kinds of difference. Thank you."
There is this sort of moral elevation that happens when compassion is practiced. When we consider our interconnections with others and nature, we instinctively want the best for all. With such an understanding of the need to care for all with none left behind, we can have the courage to offer empathy, love, and hope against all odds. Compassion actually takes a fair amount of courage. It offers healing and possibilities.
Well-developed compassion is a sense of concern that arises when we are confronted with the suffering or needs of others. It is a pull and motivation to see that suffering relieved. Compassion helps us to create a deep kind of caring and companionship. To my mind, that is the very nature of God which is to love us completely and be our companion in and through all times. It is what connects us with that feeling of empathy toward acts of kindness, generosity, and altruistic living.
I hope when my end days transition me to whatever is next, that I can say I loved large and made ‘all kinds of difference’. I am working on it. I think I will plant some seeds today in hopes of cultivating beauty and compassion. Surely spring will come.
Near the end of his journey, he called me one fall day to tell me he had ordered and received some bulbs that needed to be planted so that tulips and crocus plants could burst forth in the spring. By then, he was in a wheelchair to go places and on oxygen 24/7. The hospice doctors said he had only a few weeks left at best. Even so, dad was insistent that these bulbs be planted. He wanted to plant some bulbs in his little flower bed and many more at my home. I was working full-time and doing everything I could to stay afloat. The stress and demands of life were weighing heavily on me. After days of his persistent asking for the bulbs to be planted, I finally relented and called some friends who liked to garden to assist with this project. Trust me, there were a lot of bulbs. He, of course, supervised the entire planting. As I carved out time to make this gardening expedition happen, I finally asked him why this was so important. Because we had many honest conversations about death, I even went so far as to say, "Dad, why are you
insisting on these bulbs being planted? You know that you will most likely not be here in the spring." He responded, "Honey, you are right. I do not have much time left at all, but you do. And, when spring comes, you will enjoy the beauty and so will many others who pass by." Dad died before spring came but he was absolutely correct. His lessons of compassion and beauty bloomed mightily in the spring. These same lessons bloom in me today--17 years later. I give thanks for his love and example every day.
I thought of dad's example in reading about compassion. His concern for others was something very precious. He did not spend much time thinking about himself. He understood that the more we think about ourselves in an overly-focused way, the more suffering we will probably experience. When we think of alleviating others' suffering and offer compassion and care, our own personal suffering is lessened. He was always thinking of others asking 'how can I help'? Cultivating beauty and compassion did not take away my dad's pain but I think it made it more bearable. For him, and for us, compassion is like the oxygen we really need to live fully into whatever days we have left. Even a few hours before he died, he had one question for the oncologist. It was, "Did all the experimental drugs I took make a difference? I just hope that I helped out with the research so that others may not have to go through this." The doctor took his hand and lovingly said, "Yes, Elmer, you made all kinds of difference. Thank you."
There is this sort of moral elevation that happens when compassion is practiced. When we consider our interconnections with others and nature, we instinctively want the best for all. With such an understanding of the need to care for all with none left behind, we can have the courage to offer empathy, love, and hope against all odds. Compassion actually takes a fair amount of courage. It offers healing and possibilities.
Well-developed compassion is a sense of concern that arises when we are confronted with the suffering or needs of others. It is a pull and motivation to see that suffering relieved. Compassion helps us to create a deep kind of caring and companionship. To my mind, that is the very nature of God which is to love us completely and be our companion in and through all times. It is what connects us with that feeling of empathy toward acts of kindness, generosity, and altruistic living.
I hope when my end days transition me to whatever is next, that I can say I loved large and made ‘all kinds of difference’. I am working on it. I think I will plant some seeds today in hopes of cultivating beauty and compassion. Surely spring will come.