time and light.

A few weeks ago, I read a story about a young woman who is choosing a physician-assisted suicide.

I read it a few times, actually.

She is choosing when and where and will be surrounded by her loved ones, after deciding the pain of her terminal illness was getting to be too much. I realize there is a lot in that, and what’s been on my mind, is not so much the politics or the religious aspects of such a decision.

More so, the power of her choice.

I think about how hard all of that is.

And yesterday, I felt pretty whooped — physically, emotionally.

Busy week in the kitchen, mixed with a whirlwind of everything else.

I sat in the deep sadness of this young woman’s situation. Her life, and having to choose something so terribly difficult before her peers and family.

I sat and wondered if I had one week to take all of life in, what would I notice?

I let it sink in a little deeper, and deeper. Until my eyes started to water, and I looked up at a blue sky, with a few scattered clouds. I thought about how beautiful and rich everything was. There were some birds involved, a slight cool breeze and the sound of crunchy leaves blowing against concrete.

I sat for a minute to take it in. To simply, notice.

I let in the good and the bad. My absolute joy mixed with my worst pain.

The faces of the poor and the sick, and the butterflies of having that first kiss.

Everything came flooding back into my world.
How lucky I am.
Though I find myself existing in all sorts of worlds, I think about the fact that I was able to live in such a great love, and to also experience the great sadness of loss.


You realize that the world starts feeling like a t-shirt that has stretched beyond repair. And when you put it on, it is familiar but it doesn’t cling to you like it used to. You hold loosely to your attachments because time tells you that things come and go. That there are good years, and bad years and in between years.

I’ve personified time as my friend, as of late. I hold it close and thank it for giving me space in this little baby blue world.

I accept all these hard decisions. To move on in this world and the next, and to find that great peace we’re all constantly working to live in.

I think about her, and the fact that she’ll be surrounded by her family and loved ones. My heart breaks. But there is light all over when that happens, pouring into the cracks.

peace be with you, Brittany. sending my love and God’s love and warm and fuzzies your way. Thank you for your light.


3 responses to “time and light.”

  1. There are SO many people who feel they have the right to force their religious beliefs and convictions upon others who happen to believe differently. I applaud this young woman for staying “true to her beliefs and convictions”. So many are negatively judging her, but this is a decision between her and God….not between her, God, and others who are not facing her agony.

  2. Such a painful and difficult decision, but I totally get it. My heart goes out to her, to her family, and to you.

    My neighbor-friend and I have a “pact” – we treat it lightheartedly because we know it’s not lighthearted in the least. We have agreed to throw each other a farewell party if things become that dire (we joke that we’re sure we’re both going to end up with ‘leprosy’).

    I watched my sister live her last days in excruciating pain. The Alzheimer’s made it impossible for her to put voice to her agony, but it was clearly written in her tears, her tremors, and the grimaces rippling over her face. It was torture to watch. Since I had no say in her healthcare management, all I could do was pray for an end to her suffering.

    I’ve told my husband, my friends, and my family to please never leave me in that condition. When the pain gets that bad, I want to exit. I am not afraid to die, but I am certainly afraid to live in that much agony.

    God bless you, Josh!

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