Acts of Bravery
"A life lived in fear is a life half lived."
These last weeks, life knocked again and again on the door of my heart that is touched by courageous acts. I've witnessed, without fan fare, people quietly moving through fear with an unwavering vulnerability - truly, brave hearts. To begin the New Year, I wanted to share a few of these stories with you, perhaps they will inspire your courage, as they have inspired mine.
Engaged sixty-somethings, who met at a "Young Widow and Widowers" support group, have a close friend (also a widow) diagnosed with a terminal disease. Over the past year, there have been several occasions when folks gathered around the ill woman's bedside to whisper good-bye. But she had other plans!
Upon learning a marriage date had been reserved, the friend set an intention for herself: "I am going to that wedding." To solidify her decision, she went out and purchased a splashy sequined dress for the occasion (even before the bride had bought her own dress). A couple of weeks before the ceremony, dear friends made the bedside pilgrimage once again, and the woman simply said, "I am going to that wedding."
So, on a gorgeous October day, she donned her party attire with walker and oxygen tank in hand (after taking a couple of pills prescribed by the Hospice nurse enabling her swollen feet to fit into her fancy shoes), and she celebrated with the newlyweds. Perhaps this sounds more like determination than bravery, and you may be right, but the story is not yet complete.
Our heroine has lost such substantial weight from her illness; the scale reads only 69 pounds. I learned the other day that she gathered her energies and went to lunch with "some of the gals," and upon leaving, visited a funeral home to make arrangements for her death. This action rouses wonder in me. How deep is the well of courage to face both life and death so blatantly? This is NOT a life half lived. She eeks out every last drop of living, while remaining in acceptance that death draws ever nearer. Remarkable.
Another friend, Luciano, recently went out on a limb for a cause he believes in. The same man I wrote about last March, who created the "Bridge of Roses" project to raise money for schools in Madagascar, decided to take on the Catholic Church. Well, perhaps that sounds a bit dramatic, but in his way, that's what Luciano has done.
As a practicing Catholic, Luciano expresses very strong views about the ordination of women as leaders in the church. He's not at all preachy about it, in truth; until he sent me a copy of the letter he wrote to Cardinal O'Malley, I was unaware of his passion. Never have I witnessed Luciano forcing his opinion into a conversation. Rather, he simply took action, as he saw fit. Whether you agree with this point of view or not, I believe Luciano tells the story best. In turn, you may click here to read his letter.
What resonates most profoundly about Luciano's prose is where the message comes from within him. I read his words and heard how he plumbed his own depths to bare naked his truth, and then called upon his courage to share this truth with those empowered to take action. Action which could be in alignment with Luciano's request, or could manifest as anger directed at him.
What appears to be thematically linked to acts of bravery is the inherent knowledge that one faces the risk of loss...and the fear of the feelings associated with such a loss overwhelming our systems and paralyzing us.
A final example...one of my closest friends lost her 22 year-old son to an unexpected death six days after his birthday in December. She was immediately surrounded by family and loved ones, who sought to ease her pain. One option offered was a very mild sedative, intended to help her get through the wake and funeral.
She told me this, "I took a little something for the visitation, though I'm not sure it did anything. But I intentionally didn't take anything the day of the funeral. I wanted to let myself feel everything that day." Even as I write this, my tears well up. This devoted mom gave herself the gift of her own feelings, even when the pain shredded her. She gave me pause to remember how I sometimes wish to squelch my own feelings, because I harbor the belief that they will be too much for me. How lucky I am to have such an amazing model of what's possible.
Acts of bravery come in all forms, both internal and external. I wish for you a courageous 2012.
With love and appreciation,
Joanne Lutz