How often
have we heard that platitude? It’s a statement meant to placate someone
on the receiving end of an effort gone wrong or a well-meant gift that strikes
a bad chord. “Don’t worry about it, honey. He meant well. Just remember,
it’s the thought that counts.” The funny thing is, it’s true. It IS the
thought that counts…literally.
The “gift of
thought” is the secret I discovered when faced with the imminent passing of a
favorite cousin, back in 1989. Plagued by the need to do something to help, but
unable to find a way to do so, I gave my cousin the gift of thought. When
someone is terminally ill, what exactly do they need? Certainly not clothes
that will go unworn, or gadgets that will never be used, or food they are unable
to swallow or digest. What does a person with a terminal illness think about
when they know their time is limited?
How about a
list like:
- Why did this happen to me?
- What did I do wrong?
- Did I do this to myself with all that (drinking, smoking, carousing, unhealthy eating…fill in the blank)?
- What’s going to happen to my spouse/parents/kids?
- Who will take care of them?
- Why didn’t I take the time to travel?
- Why didn’t I spend more time with my family?
- For what attributes will I be remembered?
- Will I be remembered at all, and by whom?
- Why didn’t I save more money to provide for my family?
- How will my children survive with no parent providing?
You get the
idea. If you knew you had a month to
live and you were in a deteriorated physical state, wouldn’t you be thinking
about, asking yourself, or berating yourself for many of those things
and more?
Every moment
we have here is precious: every minute
with family, every minute doing what we
love. We enjoy that time because we
don’t think about its limits…until we are forced to do so.
So how does
the “gift of thought” weigh in on all this conjecture?
I came to the
conclusion that the best “help” I could give my cousin was something else to
think about: something funny, something thought
provoking, something inspirational, something
other than his imminent demise or his regrets over things left unfinished. But that help had to be continuous and
anonymous to give him the maximum benefit of being on the receiving end of the
gift.
For the last
three months of his life, my cousin received an anonymous postcard in the mail
on every mail delivery day. On each card was
printed a quotation that was intended to provoke thought, encourage laughter,
or inspire him to change the direction of his thoughts outward…to thinking about others rather than his predicament.
I knew it had
worked when the postcards were a heavy topic of conversation at the calling
hours, the subject of a portion of the eulogy, and when one of the quotations
was printed on the leaflets passed out at the funeral. What I didn’t know was just how important
those card were to my cousin, his wife and his kids. I wouldn’t find that out for 20 years. When I talked to my cousin’s widow a few years ago and heard about
the real effect the postcards had on him and his family, I cried with
both happiness and sadness. You will
too, when you read about it.
I did know
enough, shortly after my cousin passed, to assume that what worked for him would work for others in similar situations. And so began the 25-year journey of providing the “gift
of thought” to those in need.
And that, my
friends, is why I threw off my shield of anonymity and wrote the book. “A Mystery in the Mailbox” is meant to
inspire others to give the “gift of thought” to someone they might know who
could benefit from the project. That
person could have a terminal illness, some sort of chronic condition, or just
be enduring a long-term recovery.
Receiving the “gift of thought” might be just the thing they need to
boost their spirits and give them something to look forward to…something to
keep them going.
If you were
on the receiving end, think what such a gesture might mean.
You don’t
have to wonder. The evidence of how it
works and how it helps is found in the book, as well as instructions for doing
it yourself.
May you be
inspired.
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