These are the Days of Awe.
Many of you know that on the Hebrew calendar the first day of the new year took place on Monday, the 17th (beginning at sundown of the evening before), and that the ten day period following, what we refer to as the Days of Awe, culminates on Wednesday, the 26th, with the Day of Atonement. While I am not particularly religious or observant, I am nonetheless affected by what strike me as the ethical and moral issues that religious milestones measure, and in this case, at this time in particular, I am thinking about what fills me with awe.
In this ten day period we are supposed to be highly introspective, and use the opportunity for a serious review of how we spent the year that just ended and a contemplation of how we plan to spend the year that lies before us. The standard greeting at this time is "May you be written down for a good year," reflecting the mystical belief that there is a book of fate into which all of our names, and all of our futures, are inscribed. If we believe that literally, and if we believe that we are creatures endowed with free will, it is hard to imagine just what effect our behavior or the behavior of others will have on our futures. But I don't think it does any harm to enter into a periodic review of the choices we make and the actions we take, and this is as good a time as any to conduct that review. We are supposed to forgive debts owed to us, smooth over disputes we have with other people, and, essentially, enter the new year fresh.
For me the past year has been one where I believe I didn't have a great deal of choice, and if I did, I would not have chosen the year I have had. Except for one important thing. Because of my illness and my ongoing needs, I have come to learn how extensively goodness characterizes the people I have known--people I have known well or slightly, and people I hadn't known at all before. From all corners I have received encouragement, assistance, generosity, affection, genuine concern, patience, and services. My best friends have been like sentinels, ready to spring into action at the slightest indication that I needed something. Friends of less intimacy have been no less generous; in fact, in some cases I have been left astonished at how faithfully I could count on some people I hadn't before known all that well or thought of as especially close. But I was proven wrong over and over. My family has been indescribable, and they have risen to the challenges with energy and devotion that are inspiring. The medical people I work with, who could, if they wanted, see me as one more medical record number, are unfailingly positive and patient, and go out of their way to see to my comfort and well being. The support group I attend is full of people like me, dealing with realities we never thought we'd have to face, but sensitive and responsive to the individual needs and conditions of the others in the group. This one important thing, this newly found and consistently reinforced reminder of the essential goodness of so many people, is what fills me with awe at this particular time on the calendar as well as all the other weeks and months of the year.
I am approaching the first anniversary of my diagnosis. I have come through it, so far, with a lot of success, but I know I have a long way to go. I have several goals, some of which I have to admit to myself I will not see fulfilled. But I am working again a little, writing some, playing my piano a bit now and then, reading voraciously (I couldn't read at all until around March, I think), dancing, playing bridge, and traveling. Today I am going to fly across the country to visit my oldest childhood friend in Oregon. I recently saw an old friend who expressed some genuine surprise that I was up and around, driving myself where I needed to go, looking less dire than I did when he last saw me in the winter. All of that is good. Tuesday was Dylan's second birthday, and when we called (not because he knew it was a special day, but because we did) and sang "happy birthday" over the phone, he very clearly said, with prompting from his parents, "Hi, g'amma. Hi, g'ampa." Someday I will hear him say "I love you, Grandpa," and some day I will read the paper on which he writes those words. Goals worth striving for, and made all the more realistic by the outstanding care I am receiving from all the people I mentioned above.
So in these Days of Awe I reflect on the year that has passed and what I think lies ahead for me, and I conclude that with all your help and good wishes, I have no reason to doubt that where I want to go is where I will go. If you, my friends and family and medical team, don't fill me with awe, I just don't know what will.
