I’d known Kay and her husband for more than 15-years. During that time we regularly shared the nitty-gritty of our lives and our travels on the spiritual path. Kay was lively, with a
playful, sometimes irreverent sense of humor, and helped me see when I was taking myself too seriously. She was both highly-educated and wise, but paid attention to me as if at any moment I might impart some valuable knowledge.
She was happy for me in my accomplishments large and small, and shared my disappointments and struggles. My failings fell lightly into the well of her compassion, and her capacity for
accepting me without judgment set off ripples of healing. In her eyes I saw myself and I was a thing of beauty.
Kay’s ready smiles, hugs and hospitality were a stream that never ran dry. I hadn’t known Kay and her husband very long when I told my husband, “That’s the partnership I want for us when we’re 65.” They spoke to each other in tones resonant with affection,
humor and mutual respect. When their eyes met, they sparkled. I am not kidding. They shared tender glances, thoughtful conversation, and a unity of purpose. My husband and I agreed, if we didn’t begin to build that relationship now, we would not have it later.
As the years passed, we realized Kay and her husband were also teaching us how to experience the uncertainties, frailties and losses inherent in
aging. They didn’t conceal their vulnerability, made no pretense of winning the fight against sickness, aging and death.
Kay was a model for me in so many ways, a mentor, a friend and an inspiration. It was clear at her wake and funeral—I didn't hold the lone lottery ticket for Kay’s love. She saw a homeless woman at the drop-in center where she volunteered with the same eyes that she saw me.
And Kay was a woman of action. What her eyes saw, she did something about, something practical, something that made tomorrow a little better than today. To understand the force for good Kay wielded in this world, requires using mathematics of the heart. Take what Kay gave to me, times it by every person she knew and multiply.
The
question now: Will Kay’s dying be her final lesson for me? Or can I capture some thread of her life, some texture of the woman she was, and with small, steady stitches, piece it into my daily routine. Can I continue to learn and grow through her example and help make tomorrow’s world a little better than today’s?
Will I have the courage to learn from love? Do
you?
