The Living Lady

My Inspiration

I'd like to tell you a story. Maybe it will change your life. It did mine.

One cold, wet, November morning; early enough that it was still dark,
I was on a bus going to work.
An old woman got on the bus and said
"Good morning, everyone; isn't it a beautiful day?"
The few people who were on the bus either ignored her or told her "No".

But not me. I happen to love the cold and the rain.
So I said "You are a lady after my own heart".
She came and sat down next to me and told me her story.

This is it; in her own words.
She said

" Back in April, I was in the hospital with an inoperable brain tumor.
The doctors told me that there was nothing more to do for me.

I had two choices, I could stay in the hospital to die,
or they could arrange home care for me and I could go home to die.
They told me that it would be less than three weeks.
I am almost ninety years old, so I don't much fear death.
I told them that I chose to go home, not to die but to live.
I may not have much time left to live,
but I am not going to waste what time I have left, waiting to die.

So, they arranged for me to have home care, and I went home.
Every morning I put my feet on the floor, reach across and open the drapes and I say,
'Thank You, Lord for another day'. Then I get up and get dressed and go out.

If the weather is fine I go for a walk and meet and greet people.
If it is cold like today, I get on a bus and go to a mall, where I meet and greet people.
That was seven months ago. I am not dead yet.

The doctors don't understand it. I don't try to understand it. I just live it."

That was nine years ago. I have never seen her again.
But I often think about her and just be thankful for another day.

Serenitree Serenitree
70+, F
2 Responses Jan 13, 2013

Thank you for this beauty.

You're welcome. Thanks for taking the time to read it.

A woman with a strong spirit, reminds me of one of my favorite poems :


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
By Dylan Thomas

I too, have always loved that poem.