"Wow, you are such an interesting person!"
These are the words I said to a woman I had just met. Her face lit up and she immediately looked ten years younger than her sixty-something age. We were attending a writers group meeing, it was getting late, most of the participants had already said their goodbyes. There was no ulterior motive on my part. I didn't want anything from her. Simply put, it was how I felt. She was interesting and I was beyond riveted by her life story: Widowed when her daughter was two, and during the 1970's when most women would have quickly latched on to a new husband to take care of them, my new friend did not. Instead she went on to build a successful thirty-year career in literature, both publishing and teaching. She spoke of her teaching positions, first at an elite private school teaching high school English and later, at an urban community college where most of the students packed handguns and she feared for her life. My friend shared colorful details of her travels, most recently, her trip to Venice where her now grown daughter demonstrated an uncanny ability to navigate unfamiliar alleys. There were trips to Sante Fe, meditation sessions with Native Americans, meetings with actual Shamans.
So why the delight on her face at my statement? Why such surprise? Certainly she must hear such sentiments all the time! If anything it should be too much already, like the runway model whosimply can't bear to hear one more time how drop dead gorgeous she is. Right? Well, maybe not.
"You look great."
"I didn't recognize you; did you lose weight?"
These are the things we typically say to one another. This is our comfort zone. We usually walk right up to that line and don't cross it. Maybe because we're afraid to take the risk. What if we sound stupid? What if we sound insincere? But isn't stopping at that line just like scraping the surface of a juicy steak, licking our fork and proclaiming "all done". What are you crazy? The best part is inside! Dig in!
Sure, I can appreciate a pretty face, a fit body, thick healthy head of hair as much as anyone. But what I love even more is when a person's essence jumps out at me and practically slaps me in the face. And when it does, I like to speak up. Let them know: I see you. I appreciate who you are.
There was a death in my family recently, the wife of my father's cousin, "B". She was young, maybe in her early sixties, but it wasn't unexpected.
"B" had suffered privately with cancer for several years. Thankfully her immediate family had time to make peace with the inevitable, prepare themselves (as much as one can in these situations), and say goodbye. But now there's little ol' me. See, my father, for most of his life didn't have a relationship with his cousin. It wasn't until about fifteen years ago or so that they reconnected. So while there were the barbeques at the shore, or the occasional family celebration, I, myself, didn't spend a significant amount of time with "B" and her family. In fact, I can probably count on one hand the number of times I saw them in the past five years. But that's not the problem. See, even though the gatherings were infrequent, to me, they were still memorable. And this is because B was the type of woman who honest to God, (and I know it's cliche) lit up the room, when she arrived-- and in her case, it was usually while donning a big floppy hat on her head. Her spirit was so vibrant, and she was incredibly warm and loving.
B was the mother of four and an artist. At the shiva, her husband took me on a tour of the house, pointing out her artwork. Then we went downstairs.
B had converted an entire bathroom -floor to ceiling--into a mosaic masterpiece. There were glass fragments of all shapes and colors, plus memorabilia from her life--wine bottles, tiny toys, bottle caps, ceramic plates--all cemented together to create an almost living shrine of her life and spirit. The tears flowed then. It couldn't be helped; I felt her in that room. "You can't ever move," I said softly to her husband, only half kidding.
So why didn't I ever tell B what I thought of her? As I said before, her immediate family had several years to prepare. Certainly anything and everything was shared openly. But I didn't know she was dying. I do vaguely remember my parents mentioning something about B being sick. Was it a year ago? I can't say for sure. But for whatever reason, I didn't pay attention. I didn't understand it really was THE END. Now, if I had known, I like to think I would have told her what was in my heart. I would have said something like the following:
"You know, B, this may sound crazy, especially because you don't know me so well, but I love you. I admire you. I think you are such a wonderful and unique woman. You inspire me. And I will always remember you."
Actually, writing these words now, I am certain that yes, had I known, I would have spoken up. I would have shared. I would have risked sounding silly. I say it's better to speak up then to remain silent and regret it later. There are no guarantees in life. How much time we have with our loved ones, even those we don't know so well, is a complete mystery.
So if you feel it in your heart, why not just say it?
Out loud. Right now.
