These things change us

[Queersetti]

I wish just pet were here to offer the gift of her warm heart in response to these recent posts.

And I hope that those who don't know her will one day have that privilege.

I am so glad that this beautiful thread is alive.

 

[Aquagal]

Happy Birthday to your lovely, Captain Kirk. Do you still plan on seeing the Pacific, like she wanted? Such a heartfelt peek you shared about her last good moments, thank you for that.

I didn't know about this thread til now, I'm not surprised to know this about just pet. One evening last year she popped up after an absence and I was so taken in by her genuine, caring outlook on life.

 

[Debbie]

Thanks to you all for sharing, thanks for caring, thanks for the tears to remember sadness and most of all joy and happy tears for loving memories. We all have an expiration date. Live, love and do it well.



Many lit years ago a litster graced us with her loveliness. Her story was not mine to tell. She passed away as she had lived. With love and kindness. She asked me to write poems for her children that she placed in scrap books for them to share and asked that one day I would share her story with others. As I do.

Ascending Angel

Moonlight bathes the young babe's faces
Silently they sleep, full of happy dreams;
Filled with fairy cakes, lemonade and parks
Ducks waddled, birdies sang and they played
Mommy smiled and there were many games

Hide n seek in shrubs and behind trees
Smothered giggles as they were found
Now they slumber, bathed in bubbles
Dressed in warm 'jamas and tucked in
Snuggled under warm, colourful covers

Mommy read Green Eggs and Ham
Mr Sandman tugged at weary eyelids
Soon they slumbered, snoring lightly
Limbs soon relaxed, blankies askew
Cute faces resting upon plump pillows

In the corner, quietly sits a young woman
Seated upon a wooden chair, watching
A nightly ritual, her thoughts are deep
Her vigil from late at night till morning
To simply watch over her li'l darlings

Content in the tender short moments
As her angels sleep, she patiently waits
Knowing the night will pass quickly
Needing to be there when they awake
Their first glimpse of the day dawning

To be her smiling, happy loving face
Running to her warm, enveloping arms
Holding them tight, kissing sleepy faces
Laughing as they wriggle and shout
"Mummy, we love you, Mummy."

Each day a blessing shared with others
A gift of time and two precious bundles
Knowing one day soon she would pass on
To become a bright star in their night sky
Happy in the knowledge the time well spent


Lost in her own thoughts, she softly smiles
Thinking not of yesterday nor of tomorrow
But of being so alive in the present second
Grateful for the moment and hoping for more
She sighs, getting up and adjusting quilts

Softly kissing each young childs forehead
Placing an errant teddy bear under an arm
Tucking in and making her babes comfy
She returns to her place in the corner
As the night lightens, ready for morn

The sun begins to rise as the Moon dips
Birds start to cheep, as a new day dawns
Another beginning as her children start to stir
She stretches, and laughs as her wig shifts
Pushing it back into place she lovingly waits

 

[Queersetti]

Love to you, Debbie.

 

[Laurel]

My wife Jazz was diagnosed with Stage 4 liver cancer last March.

The day we found out, she cried with me holding her and crying with her for what seemed like hours. After that day, she never cried, not once. I did, though I would never let her see me, but I would pull myself together. I had to be strong for her sake.

Throughout the treatments, we were planning a trip out west next (this) year. She always wanted to go to Las Vegas and do what she loved doing best: gambling at the casino and losing my money. Then to the west coast. She wanted to see the Pacific Ocean. I told her I wasn't sure if we had enough time to do all of this, with her appointments and therapy. She just said, "Sure there is; we have time. We have all the time we need."

Mid-December, our grandchildren came to the house and decorated it for the holidays. Jazz was so happy to see them one more time, and loved them for putting up the tree and decorations for her favorite holiday.

That was her last good day before she started deteriorating.

I lost her four days later, nine days before Christmas. At the end, I and our daughters (along with most of our families) were there beside her bed. She opened her eyes and looked at us, smiled a little, faded back to sleep... and slowly stopped breathing, with me holding her hand the whole time.

Thanks to people like Pet, the nurses who chemo treated her, her doctors who monitored her progress, the hospice caregivers who made sure she wasn't suffering or in pain in the end... they gave her nine months she never would have had. I brought the staff roses and chocolates, and thanked them for doing all they could for her.

I won't waste anymore time. Life is too short to worry about petty things. Just live life and keep going, no matter what it throws at you.

Today is Jazz's birthday. For her... I'll keep going.

Happy Birthday, my beloved. I love you, and I miss you.

This made me cry.

 

[Queersetti]

Every time this thread gets bumped, I hold my breath for a minute before I open it.

 

[CaptainKirk]

I thank you all for your thoughts. Things are starting to get better, but it will be a while before the family will really be 'okay' with it. We're doing fine, so far.

Happy Birthday to your lovely, Captain Kirk. Do you still plan on seeing the Pacific, like she wanted? Such a heartfelt peek you shared about her last good moments, thank you for that.

If I do take the trip (and I really do want to), it won't be until next year. Right now, all I can think of is Jazz. Her arrangements, her belongings, her final interment (in April)... and how much I miss her.

I wish Pet could be here so I could thank her for this thread and what she does for others.

 

[Queersetti]

Considering the news several posters have shared recently, it seems like this thread deserves a bump.

 

[Saint Peter]

Hang tough, Howard.

 

[just pet]

It has been many, many years since I started this thread. I was reminded of its power and all the stories of the amazing people who kept it alive. Reading every post again brings tears and gratitude for the honest sharing and support we have for each other.
Let’s continue to share our stories

Thank you, Queersetti, for remembering

 

[thør]

I was at a conference in Europe a few weeks ago and even though I was enjoying seeing a lot of old friends and colleagues, something was off. I couldn't place it until one of my friends said, "You must be really missing T right now. You and him are always together at these things." And it hit me that he was right. T passed away back in April. I detoured to attend his funeral on the way to a conference that we were both supposed to be at in May. I didn't think that I'd be missing him in Europe, but I did.

 

[Debbie]

I have tears that I havent properly let go yet.

Writing that sounds like gibberish but in my head it makes sense.

I know it is part of the grieving process but I'm holding my shit together.

bigrednz was my favorite person in the world. My love. My precious. 27 years together. Married 24.

We were two weirdos who somehow found each other. The universe works in mysterious ways and I am so grateful we found each and had many years. We raised a family, made each other laugh. We made a great team in good times and bad.

He was my happy place.

I know I will be ok. Our family will be ok.

But we miss him so much.

I dont hate easily but I hate covid.

We all got through lockdown in New Zealand safely.

Nov 2022 bigrednz had a heart attack and went to hospital. So much happened health wise with his heart kidneys and after 2 months of asking for his leg pain to be looked at the ct scan showed a mass.

the mass turned out to be lymphoma and so advanced he had months. Possibly longer if he wanted to risk chemo but the dr said it might (the chemo) make his quality of life less than what he had at the time.

So with hospital support, the hospice and our adult children I was bringing him home to be with us till the end. I was so sad but he wanted to come home and having done palliative care I wanted to do this for us.

But he got covid in the hospital and his health wasnt the best.

He fought so hard for us physically to come home.

But he was exhausted and the dr didnt tell us he had pneumonia. They weren't giving him iv fluids.

( I got special permission to visit him fully gowned vaccinated and boosted in the covid ward)

We had told each how much we loved each other.

He was tired. I told him. Just rest. I ll stay and talk to you till you fall asleep.

He closed his eyes. I talked and held his hand. I cried and told him if you are too tired to fight anymore just rest. Let go. I dont want you to go but if it's too much. I'll be ok. I promise. Our family will be ok. I love you.

I left at 7 30 pm that night.

The dr called at 4 45 am the next morning.

He was gone.

I sat with him in his covid room. He looked at rest. His face looked like it normally did when he was sleeping.

I tell myself he went to sleep and just slipped away.

I held his hand. Said my goodbyes and told him I love you.

Feb 2023. RIP mike. My precious. Loved. Many happy memories. Dad in our big blended family. Grandpa to 5. Workmate and friend to many who talk of his humour, hardworking, smart, kind and a lovely human being.

Just pet you already know I think you are the bees knees but I'm writing it again. thanks to just pet for this thread and those who share tough stories.

 

[FataMorgana]

Grief is a weird old dog. I lost my mum November 30th. I held her in my arms as she died and spent time with her twice in the Chapel of Rest. I dreaded that day coming all my life and thought it would end me. But I've hardly cried at all. I found myself crying at some crap on telly the other night and was horrified. I talk about her like I did when she was alive, and trust me I know she's gone, but I don't think I've actually processed it or admitted it in my heart. My Dad's been gone since 2012 and I regularly talk to him, but not her?

I have huge guilt with this, and some confusion. Everyone thought I'd be on my knees when she went but I've coped "too well" and it unnerves me.

A weird dog indeed. Maybe he's just circling still and getting ready to approach me and drop his ball at my feet.

 

[Queersetti]

Grief is a weird old dog. I lost my mum November 30th. I held her in my arms as she died and spent time with her twice in the Chapel of Rest. I dreaded that day coming all my life and thought it would end me. But I've hardly cried at all. I found myself crying at some crap on telly the other night and was horrified. I talk about her like I did when she was alive, and trust me I know she's gone, but I don't think I've actually processed it or admitted it in my heart. My Dad's been gone since 2012 and I regularly talk to him, but not her?

I have huge guilt with this, and some confusion. Everyone thought I'd be on my knees when she went but I've coped "too well" and it unnerves me.

A weird dog indeed. Maybe he's just circling still and getting ready to approach me and drop his ball at my feet.

Just about everyone is familiar with Kubler-Ross' 5 stages of grief formulation. What is often misunderstood is that, while nearly everyone experiences all 5 stages, there is no "normal" order or time frame, no one path that we all follow. We each take our own journey. Yours is different from that of others, and even from that which you followed with the loss of your father. There is almost certainly a reason that is so. And that is not because of some failing in yourself. It is because in your deepest soul, you know the way through. Trust that. Your guilt is undeserved self punishment. Honor her by caring for yourself.

 

[FataMorgana]

Just about everyone is familiar with Kubler-Ross' 5 stages of grief formulation. What is often misunderstood is that, while nearly everyone experiences all 5 stages, there is no "normal" order or time frame, no one path that we all follow. We each take our own journey. Yours is different from that of others, and even from that which you followed with the loss of your father. There is almost certainly a reason that is so. And that is not because of some failing in yourself. It is because in your deepest soul, you know the way through. Trust that. Your guilt is undeserved self punishment. Honor her by caring for yourself.

I think this is the most comforting thing I've had said to me since she left.

Thank you.

 

[Stewart_Pidd]

I am going to post from the other side of the coin.

Last year, I began to lose weight. I wasn't too alarmed at first, because I had actually been trying to lose weight. But my weight began to fall off rapidly. My family kept asking me to see a doctor. Stubbornly and stupidly, I shrugged them off. I went from 250+ to 170lbs between Jan '22 to Jun '22. Suddenly I began to feel weak, light-headed, and had a pain in my lower right abdomen. My family finally convinced me to make an appt with my primary care.

My primary care doctor had some quick blood tests done, and he was very alarmed. My RBC, hematocrit, hemoglobin, and iron levels were critically low...nearing 0. I was set up to see a GI doctor the next day. The GI doctor said that I should be prepared to either hear that I have cancer or lymphoma. She ordered a CT scan for the next day. The morning after the CT scan, around 6:30am, I got a call from the GI doctor telling me to drop everything and rush to the ER, because I already had a bed ready. I was hooked up to IV's, given infusions of iron, and eventually 2 transfusions. I had a colonoscopy and another CT scan done. In the morning, several doctors came in, and one of them told me that I had stage 4 colon cancer. It had began to metastize and had spread to my small intestine, and I had spots on my liver, lungs, and lymph nodes. The doctor told me that since it's begun to spread, I would more than likely die in a few months. I had a portion of my descending colon and small intestine removed, and was given a colostomy. My weight was 140lbs.

Here I was, staring death in the face. I wasn't scared of dying at all. None of that mattered to me. What did scare me, and matter to me was my family and how it would affect them. I wish I could say that I chose to live at that point, or that I spat in the face of death. No, it took the biggest stroke of luck I've ever had in my life.

It turned out that my cancer was due to two faulty genes. The genes that deal with immunity. Normally when a cell develops in a deformed way, it either destroys itself, or white blood cells attack it. My body was doing neither of those things. I lucked into having a great oncologist. Not only did he tell me that my survival chances were 98%, but he told me that I wouldn't be going through chemo or radiation therapy. I was one of the best candidates for a new immunotherapy trial. Instead of spending all day at the treatment center like chemo patients do, I spend 30 minutes getting a quick treatment through my main line port.

So here I am, 11 months later. No spots on my liver, lungs, or intestines. All I have are some swollen lymph nodes that are shrinking in a steady manner. I'm in remission and my colostomy has been reversed. I had gone back up to 220lbs by order of my doctor, but I've worked my way back down to 185.

One of the complications when I had cancer was that my prostate swole up to the size of a small orange. Sex was painful. But now, my prostate is back to normal and I feel like a teen again. Healthwise, I feel better than ever. I have renewed strength, and a new way of looking at life. I just bought a really nice bike (bicycle) and I've been pushing myself, forcing new limits.

So, I did stare death in the face, I did have a taste of the other side of the coin. All I can say is that small things bring great comfort to someone in that situation. Empathy and understanding make all the difference.

PLEASE GET A COLONOSCOPY IF YOU ARE 45+ bro.

Stew

 

[FataMorgana]

Fucking hell bro! That was so scary on initial reading then went to utterly amazing. Am so glad. The world would be a tad duller without you in it. And certainly Lit is.

Oh and thanks for confirming what a bike is. Patronising cunt.

 

[Stewart_Pidd]

Fucking hell bro! That was so scary on initial reading then went to utterly amazing. Am so glad. The world would be a tad duller without you in it. And certainly Lit is.

Oh and thanks for confirming what a bike is. Patronising cunt.

Here in hickville, when someone says bike, they look at you funny if you don't have tattoos and a skank bro.

Stew

 

[FataMorgana]

Here in hickville, when someone says bike, they look at you funny if you don't have tattoos and a skank bro.

Stew

Here in Cuntsville if someone says bicycle you get the shit kicked out of you if you aren't wearing a top hat and a cravat bro.

 

[Stewart_Pidd]

Here in Cuntsville if someone says bicycle you get the shit kicked out of you if you aren't wearing a top hat and a cravat bro.

Does that come from the Ministry of Silly Bike Riding bro?

Stew

 

[Pookie]

I am going to post from the other side of the coin.

Last year, I began to lose weight. I wasn't too alarmed at first, because I had actually been trying to lose weight. But my weight began to fall off rapidly. My family kept asking me to see a doctor. Stubbornly and stupidly, I shrugged them off. I went from 250+ to 170lbs between Jan '22 to Jun '22. Suddenly I began to feel weak, light-headed, and had a pain in my lower right abdomen. My family finally convinced me to make an appt with my primary care.

My primary care doctor had some quick blood tests done, and he was very alarmed. My RBC, hematocrit, hemoglobin, and iron levels were critically low...nearing 0. I was set up to see a GI doctor the next day. The GI doctor said that I should be prepared to either hear that I have cancer or lymphoma. She ordered a CT scan for the next day. The morning after the CT scan, around 6:30am, I got a call from the GI doctor telling me to drop everything and rush to the ER, because I already had a bed ready. I was hooked up to IV's, given infusions of iron, and eventually 2 transfusions. I had a colonoscopy and another CT scan done. In the morning, several doctors came in, and one of them told me that I had stage 4 colon cancer. It had began to metastize and had spread to my small intestine, and I had spots on my liver, lungs, and lymph nodes. The doctor told me that since it's begun to spread, I would more than likely die in a few months. I had a portion of my descending colon and small intestine removed, and was given a colostomy. My weight was 140lbs.

Here I was, staring death in the face. I wasn't scared of dying at all. None of that mattered to me. What did scare me, and matter to me was my family and how it would affect them. I wish I could say that I chose to live at that point, or that I spat in the face of death. No, it took the biggest stroke of luck I've ever had in my life.

It turned out that my cancer was due to two faulty genes. The genes that deal with immunity. Normally when a cell develops in a deformed way, it either destroys itself, or white blood cells attack it. My body was doing neither of those things. I lucked into having a great oncologist. Not only did he tell me that my survival chances were 98%, but he told me that I wouldn't be going through chemo or radiation therapy. I was one of the best candidates for a new immunotherapy trial. Instead of spending all day at the treatment center like chemo patients do, I spend 30 minutes getting a quick treatment through my main line port.

So here I am, 11 months later. No spots on my liver, lungs, or intestines. All I have are some swollen lymph nodes that are shrinking in a steady manner. I'm in remission and my colostomy has been reversed. I had gone back up to 220lbs by order of my doctor, but I've worked my way back down to 185.

One of the complications when I had cancer was that my prostate swole up to the size of a small orange. Sex was painful. But now, my prostate is back to normal and I feel like a teen again. Healthwise, I feel better than ever. I have renewed strength, and a new way of looking at life. I just bought a really nice bike (bicycle) and I've been pushing myself, forcing new limits.

So, I did stare death in the face, I did have a taste of the other side of the coin. All I can say is that small things bring great comfort to someone in that situation. Empathy and understanding make all the difference.

PLEASE GET A COLONOSCOPY IF YOU ARE 45+ bro.

Stew

The fuck bro! So glad you're getting healthy. Also, don't fucking ever do that again!

 

[Queersetti]

My father was an immigrant, and he really believed in America. He loved jazz and Hollywood movies, greasy cheeseburgers and the Red Sox. He believed in the idea that in America, if you worked hard, you could get ahead, give your family a good life, and leave more for the next generation that was left for you. But he was uneducated and spent his life as a longshoreman, in Genoa, then in Mystic Connecticut and Portland Maine. He made a good living, couldn't afford to buy a big house or start a business. But what he could do was buy life insurance. He bought a lot of life insurance.

When he died in 1989, he left the family with much more money than we had imagined we would ever have. I was teaching high school at the time. My mother wanted a secure way to make the money grow. Nothing spectacular, just some steady income for herself, my sister and I. Land was really cheap in midcoast Maine, and we bought several houses in the area to use as rental property. It turned out to be a great idea. Over the next twenty years, the value of our properties skyrocketed as more and more people moved to the Maine coast or purchased summer homes there. When my mom passed, I had enough money to buy out my sister's share and become sole owner.

In 2009, I suffered a near fatal heart attack. I fully recovered. In fact, my long time cardiologist retired a couple of years ago, and when I saw a new one, he told me that if my stents didn't show up on xrays, he'd be skeptical that I'd actually had a heart attack. But I made the decision to slow down, and so, I sold off most of my properties, and bought a house in Italy, in the hills above Genoa, not far from where my parents grew up. Since then, I have split my time, summer in Maine, winter in Liguria.

There was one property that never sold. I had taken it as an add on in a deal for another place. It was not near the coast, but about 30 miles inland, on a dirt road in a rural area.I had it up for sale for years and never got a bite. Eventually, I stopped listing it. I'd get a property tax bill every year for about a hundred dollars. I'd pay it and forget about it.

Last summer, I was in the area visiting friends, and on a whim, I drove out to my property. It's just five acres, mostly scrubby meadow near the road, woods in the back half. I parked and walked around a little bit, just reminiscing about how I had once thought I might build a country house there someday.

By coincidence, I heard voices coming from the woods. A few minutes later, a young couple emerged. I think I startled them, but we introduced ourselves. They owned the property behind mine. We had a lovely chat. He was an outdoor kind of guy, fisherman, hiker, hunter. She joked that she preferred to stay at home, curled up with a book. At one point he said that if they had more buildable land, he'd build her a "she shed" where she could escape from all his activity and read in peace.

It was getting late in the day, and we said our goodbyes, but as they walked back toward the woods, I impulsively called them back.

"You could build it here," I told them. "Do you want this land?'

They said they couldn't afford it. I said, "I didn't ask you if you wanted to buy it."

A few days later, we met at the town office as soon as it opened, and I signed the deed over to them. I hope he builds her that little getaway, and I hope she enjoys it.

Later, I wondered why I had spontaneously just given away that land. On reflection, I realized that, at the age of 68, I have entered that phase of life where one faces the inevitability of mortality. The season of letting go. And I'm okay with that. I regard every minute of life that I've enjoyed since that heart attack as gift time, extra icing on my cake.

It's still my ultimate goal to be the modern version of the old Italian man in Catch-22, waving his cane at the young men and mocking them for their presumptions of knowledge and wisdom. But whatever comes, I'm ready for it. That young couple didn't pay me for that parcel with money, it was an exchange of land for an epiphany.

 

[Queersetti]

I am going to post from the other side of the coin.

Last year, I began to lose weight. I wasn't too alarmed at first, because I had actually been trying to lose weight. But my weight began to fall off rapidly. My family kept asking me to see a doctor. Stubbornly and stupidly, I shrugged them off. I went from 250+ to 170lbs between Jan '22 to Jun '22. Suddenly I began to feel weak, light-headed, and had a pain in my lower right abdomen. My family finally convinced me to make an appt with my primary care.

My primary care doctor had some quick blood tests done, and he was very alarmed. My RBC, hematocrit, hemoglobin, and iron levels were critically low...nearing 0. I was set up to see a GI doctor the next day. The GI doctor said that I should be prepared to either hear that I have cancer or lymphoma. She ordered a CT scan for the next day. The morning after the CT scan, around 6:30am, I got a call from the GI doctor telling me to drop everything and rush to the ER, because I already had a bed ready. I was hooked up to IV's, given infusions of iron, and eventually 2 transfusions. I had a colonoscopy and another CT scan done. In the morning, several doctors came in, and one of them told me that I had stage 4 colon cancer. It had began to metastize and had spread to my small intestine, and I had spots on my liver, lungs, and lymph nodes. The doctor told me that since it's begun to spread, I would more than likely die in a few months. I had a portion of my descending colon and small intestine removed, and was given a colostomy. My weight was 140lbs.

Here I was, staring death in the face. I wasn't scared of dying at all. None of that mattered to me. What did scare me, and matter to me was my family and how it would affect them. I wish I could say that I chose to live at that point, or that I spat in the face of death. No, it took the biggest stroke of luck I've ever had in my life.

It turned out that my cancer was due to two faulty genes. The genes that deal with immunity. Normally when a cell develops in a deformed way, it either destroys itself, or white blood cells attack it. My body was doing neither of those things. I lucked into having a great oncologist. Not only did he tell me that my survival chances were 98%, but he told me that I wouldn't be going through chemo or radiation therapy. I was one of the best candidates for a new immunotherapy trial. Instead of spending all day at the treatment center like chemo patients do, I spend 30 minutes getting a quick treatment through my main line port.

So here I am, 11 months later. No spots on my liver, lungs, or intestines. All I have are some swollen lymph nodes that are shrinking in a steady manner. I'm in remission and my colostomy has been reversed. I had gone back up to 220lbs by order of my doctor, but I've worked my way back down to 185.

One of the complications when I had cancer was that my prostate swole up to the size of a small orange. Sex was painful. But now, my prostate is back to normal and I feel like a teen again. Healthwise, I feel better than ever. I have renewed strength, and a new way of looking at life. I just bought a really nice bike (bicycle) and I've been pushing myself, forcing new limits.

So, I did stare death in the face, I did have a taste of the other side of the coin. All I can say is that small things bring great comfort to someone in that situation. Empathy and understanding make all the difference.

PLEASE GET A COLONOSCOPY IF YOU ARE 45+ bro.

Stew

Not so Stew Pidd after all..

 

[FataMorgana]

There are some beautiful words in this thread.

 

[Stewart_Pidd]

My father was an immigrant, and he really believed in America. He loved jazz and Hollywood movies, greasy cheeseburgers and the Red Sox. He believed in the idea that in America, if you worked hard, you could get ahead, give your family a good life, and leave more for the next generation that was left for you. But he was uneducated and spent his life as a longshoreman, in Genoa, then in Mystic Connecticut and Portland Maine. He made a good living, couldn't afford to buy a big house or start a business. But what he could do was buy life insurance. He bought a lot of life insurance.

When he died in 1989, he left the family with much more money than we had imagined we would ever have. I was teaching high school at the time. My mother wanted a secure way to make the money grow. Nothing spectacular, just some steady income for herself, my sister and I. Land was really cheap in midcoast Maine, and we bought several houses in the area to use as rental property. It turned out to be a great idea. Over the next twenty years, the value of our properties skyrocketed as more and more people moved to the Maine coast or purchased summer homes there. When my mom passed, I had enough money to buy out my sister's share and become sole owner.

In 2009, I suffered a near fatal heart attack. I fully recovered. In fact, my long time cardiologist retired a couple of years ago, and when I saw a new one, he told me that if my stents didn't show up on xrays, he'd be skeptical that I'd actually had a heart attack. But I made the decision to slow down, and so, I sold off most of my properties, and bought a house in Italy, in the hills above Genoa, not far from where my parents grew up. Since then, I have split my time, summer in Maine, winter in Liguria.

There was one property that never sold. I had taken it as an add on in a deal for another place. It was not near the coast, but about 30 miles inland, on a dirt road in a rural area.I had it up for sale for years and never got a bite. Eventually, I stopped listing it. I'd get a property tax bill every year for about a hundred dollars. I'd pay it and forget about it.

Last summer, I was in the area visiting friends, and on a whim, I drove out to my property. It's just five acres, mostly scrubby meadow near the road, woods in the back half. I parked and walked around a little bit, just reminiscing about how I had once thought I might build a country house there someday.

By coincidence, I heard voices coming from the woods. A few minutes later, a young couple emerged. I think I startled them, but we introduced ourselves. They owned the property behind mine. We had a lovely chat. He was an outdoor kind of guy, fisherman, hiker, hunter. She joked that she preferred to stay at home, curled up with a book. At one point he said that if they had more buildable land, he'd build her a "she shed" where she could escape from all his activity and read in peace.

It was getting late in the day, and we said our goodbyes, but as they walked back toward the woods, I impulsively called them back.

"You could build it here," I told them. "Do you want this land?'

They said they couldn't afford it. I said, "I didn't ask you if you wanted to buy it."

A few days later, we met at the town office as soon as it opened, and I signed the deed over to them. I hope he builds her that little getaway, and I hope she enjoys it.

Later, I wondered why I had spontaneously just given away that land. On reflection, I realized that, at the age of 68, I have entered that phase of life where one faces the inevitability of mortality. The season of letting go. And I'm okay with that. I regard every minute of life that I've enjoyed since that heart attack as gift time, extra icing on my cake.

It's still my ultimate goal to be the modern version of the old Italian man in Catch-22, waving his cane at the young men and mocking them for their presumptions of knowledge and wisdom. But whatever comes, I'm ready for it. That young couple didn't pay me for that parcel with money, it was an exchange of land for an epiphany.

That was such a great story. I've found that the more money I have, the less I need it. Generosity, as in your example are so rare these days. You did the right thing sir bro.

Stew