Final Goodbye , (A Touching Story)

A Touching story about the Death of Our Loved Ones.

"I am going home to Denmark, Son, and I just wanted to tell you I love you."
In my dad's last telephone call to me, he repeated that line seven times in a half hour. I wasn't listening at the right level. I heard the words, but not the message, and certainly not their profound intent. I believed my dad would live to be over 100 years old, as my great uncle lived to be 107 years old. I had not felt his remorse over Mom's death, understood his intense loneliness as an "empty nester," or realized most of his pals had long since light-beamed off the planet. He relentlessly requested my brothers and I create grandchildren so that he could be a devoted grandfather. I was too busy "entrepreneuring" to really listen.
"Dad's dead," sighed my brother Brian on July 4, l982.
My little brother is a witty lawyer and has a humorous, quick mind. I thought he was setting me up for a joke, and I awaited the punchline - there wasn't one. "Dad died in the bed he was born in - in Rozkeldj," continued Brian. "The funeral directors are putting him in a coffin, and shipping Dad and his belongings to us tomorrow. We need to prepare for the funeral."
I was speechless. This isn't the way it's supposed to happen. If I knew these were to be Dad's final days, I would have asked to go with him to Denmark. I believe in the hospice movement, which says: "No one should die alone." A loved one should hold your hand and comfort you as you transition from one plane of reality to another. I would have offered consolation during his final hour, if I'd been really listening, thinking and in tune with the Infinite. Dad announced his departure as best he could, and I had missed it. I felt grief, pain and remorse, Why had I not been there for him? He'd always been there for me.
In the mornings when I was nine years old, he would come home from working 18 hours at his bakery and wake me up at 5:00 A.M. by scratching my back with his strong powerful hands and whispering, "Time to get up, Son." By the time I was dressed and ready to roll, he had my newspapers folded, banded and stuffed in my bicycle basket. Recalling his generosity of spirit brings tears to my eyes.
When I was racing bicycles, he drove me 50 miles each way to Kenosha, Wisconsin, every Tuesday night so I could race and he could watch me. He was there to hold me if I lost and shared the euphoria when I won.
Later, he accompanied me to all my local talks in Chicago when I spoke to Century 21, Mary Kay, Equitable and various churches. He always smiled, listened and proudly told whomever he was sitting with, "That's my boy!"
After the fact, my heart was in pain because Dad was there for me and I wasn't there for him. My humble advice is to always, always share your love with your loved ones, and ask to be invited to that sacred transitional period where physical life transforms into spiritual life. Experiencing the process of death with one you love will take you into a bigger, more expansive dimension of beingness.

COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS

Be thankful for all the wonderful things you have in your life and seek the hidden advantage in the events that surround you

So many times a door in life closes and we become angry, cursing our fate. We lose a job, our girlfriend or boyfriend leaves us, our house is virtually destroyed in a storm and we have to move. The famous Roman orator, Cicero, who lived in the first century AD, had this to say about attitude, “A thankful heart is not only the greatest Virtue, but the parent of all the other virtues.” At first glance, this is a puzzling little saying, but since Cicero is probably one of the world’s first motivational speakers, perhaps it is worth taking seriously. Still, we must ask, what is a thankful heart, especially in a world where hearts are so easily broken, where calamity and disappointment for so many lurks behind every corner and where life seems so easily to dispense failure and dissatisfaction and heartbreak? It would seem that a thankful heart is possessed by a man or a woman who habitually looks at the world with a feeling of thanksgiving or gratitude despite what other people might think of the world about them. To obtain a thankful heart, one must either be slightly insane, given the nature of things or have adopted an attitude of thankfulness, despite the normal course of things for some over-riding reason. Cicero says that a thankful heart is “the parent of all other virtues.” Some say that the Law of Attraction operates by sending back to you whatever you send out to the universe. It would seem that it would be best to be sending out thoughts from a heart disciplined to look at the good side of things. In other words; look at life by seeking the invisible opportunity in difficulties, seize the possibilities for growth in adversity, and look at life’s situations from the standpoint of a thankful heart. For most, the habitual response to those situations is purely negative. But to others, who know the secret very well, there is always the possibility of a hidden advantage. What could that be like? Well, obviously, if you lose your job, you could get a better job, one that you would never have thought of looking for. If you lose a boyfriend or have a divorce, there could be something in store for you. Things that seem bad are not always the worst possible things. Sometimes they are just a way of the universe opening up new possibilities for you to enjoy. Therefore, at the very least, when something unexpected happens, you can realise that you are stepping into the unknown. But, is there a way you can step into these unknown and perhaps seemingly dangerous waters — and still put your best foot forward? Perhaps, you can use the healing and s t re n g t h e n i n g power of gratitude. Gratitude is not just an emotion, but a power, a power that empowers you to move forward in life. What should we be grateful for? Yes, we should be grateful for our jobs, our homes, our cars, our financial rewards — but, principally, we should be thankful for our friends and families, for the loving relationships that nurture and sustain us everyday. But, instead, of letting our gratitude be like the backdrop of painting, a colourful but distant background to the events and drama in our lives, Greg Hand suggests that it should be a very positive, very prominent part of our lives. How do we do this? By daily, hourly, minute by minute, thanking God for the many wonderful things in our lives. In a recent video called The Secret, the movie focuses on the Law of Attraction, what it describes as the universe’s natural and lawful tendency to return back to us what is given it. So, if you give gratitude to the universe, gratitude for the abundance, love, happiness and peace in your life, for the manifold blessings you have — even if those seem somehow hiding under a shadow — the universe will return the attitude by bringing abundance, love, happiness and peace into your life. Sometimes it happens in a very surprising way. The real secret, however; is to be thankful for all the wonderful things you have in your life and to always seek the hidden advantage in the events that surround you. Dare to dream and make those dreams into your reality through your actions and thoughts

The Secret of Happiness

The old man shuffled slowly into the restaurant. With head tilted, and shoulders bent forward, he leaned on his trusty cane with each unhurried step. His tattered cloth jacket, patched trousers, worn out shoes, and warm personality made him stand out from the usual Saturday morning breakfast crowd. Unforgettable were his pale blue eyes that sparkled like diamonds, large rosy cheeks, and thin lips held in a tight, steady smile. He stopped, turned with his whole body, and winked at a little girl seated by the door. She flashed a big grin right back at him. A young waitress named Mary watched him shuffle toward a table by the window. Mary ran over to him, and said, "Here, Sir. Let me give you a hand with that chair." Without saying a word, he smiled and nodded a thank you. She pulled the chair away from the table. Steadying him with one arm, she helped him move in front of the chair, and get comfortably seated. Then she scooted the table up close to him, and leaned his cane against the table where he could reach it. In a soft, clear voice he said, "Thank you, Miss. And bless you for your kind gestures." "You're welcome, Sir." She replied. "And my name is Mary. I'll be back in a moment, and if you need anything at all in the mean time, just wave at me!" After he had finished a hearty meal of pancakes, bacon, and hot lemon tea, Mary brought him the change from his ticket. He left it lay. She helped him up from his chair, and out from behind the table. She handed him his cane, and walked with him to the front door. Holding the door open for him, she said, "Come back and see us, Sir!" He turned with his whole body, winked a smile, and nodded a thank you. "You are very kind." he said softly. When Mary went to clean his table, she almost fainted. Under his plate she found a business card and a note scribbled on a napkin. Under the napkin was a one hundred dollar bill. The note on the napkin read... "Dear Mary, I respect you very much, and you respect yourself too. It shows by the way you treat others. You have found the secret of happiness. Your kind gestures will shine through those who meet you." The man she had waited on was the owner of the restaurant where she worked. This was the first time that she, or any of his employees had ever seen him in person.
Author: Steve Brunkhorst

Cute Story

A little boy got angry with his mother and shouted at her, "I hate you, I hate you." Because of fear of reprimand, he ran out of the house. He went up to the valley and shouted, "I hate you, I hate you," and back came the echo, "I hate you, I hate you." This was the first time in his life he had heard an echo. He got scared, went to his mother for protection and said there was a bad boy in the valley who shouted "I hate you, I hate you." The mother understood and she asked her son to go back and shout, "I love you, I love you." The little boy went and shouted, "I love you, I love you," and back came the echo. That taught the little boy a STORY that our life is like an echo: We get back what we give.

Benjamin Franklin said, "When you are good to others, you are best to yourself."

My Busy Day - Every Mother Must Read

My Busy Day
"Mommy, look!" cried my daughter, Darla, pointing to a chicken hawk soaring through the air.
"Uh huh," I murmured, driving, lost in thought about the tight schedule of my Day.
Disappointment filled her face. "What's the matter, Sweetheart?" I asked, entirely dense.
"Nothing," my seven-year-old said. The moment was gone. Near home, we slowed to search for the albino deer that comes out from behind the thick mass of trees in the early evening. She was nowhere to be seen.
"Tonight, she has too many things to do," I said.
Dinner, baths and phone calls filled the hours until bedtime.
"Come on, Darla, time for bed!" She raced past me up the stairs. Tired, I kissed her on the cheek, said prayers and tucked her in.
"Mom, I forgot to give you something!" she said. My patience was gone.
"Give it to me in the morning," I said, but she shook her head.
"You won't have time in the morning!" she retorted.
"I'll take time," I answered defensively. Sometimes no matter how hard I.tried, time flowed through my fingers like sand in an hourglass, never enough. Not enough for her, for my husband, and definitely not enough for me.
She wasn't ready to give up yet. She wrinkled her freckled little nose in anger and swiped away her chestnut brown hair."No, you won't! It will be just like today when I told you to look at the hawk. You didn't even listen to what I said."
I was too weary to argue; she hit too close to the truth. "Good night!" I shut her door with a resounding thud.
Later though, her gray-blue gaze filled my vision as I thought about how little time we really had until she was grown and gone.
My husband asked, "Why so glum?" I told him.
"Maybe she's not asleep yet. Why don't you check," he said with all the authority of a parent in the right. I followed his advice, wishing it was my own idea.
I cracked open her door, and the light from the window spilled over her sleeping form. In her hand I could see the remains of a crumpled paper. Slowly I opened her palm to see what the item of our disagreement had been.
Tears filled my eyes. She had torn into small pieces a big red heart with a poem she had written titled, "Why I Love My Mother!"
I carefully removed the tattered pieces. Once the puzzle was put back into place, I read what she had written:
Why I Love My Mother
Although you're busy, and you work so hard You always take time to play I love you Mommy because I am the biggest part of your busy day!
The words were an arrow straight to the heart. At seven years old, she had the wisdom of Solomon.
Ten minutes later I carried a tray to her room, with two cups of hot chocolate with marshmallows and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When I softly touched her smooth cheek, I could feel my heart burst with love.
Her thick dark lashes lay like fans against her lids as they fluttered, awakened from a dreamless sleep, and she looked at the tray.
"What is that for?" she asked, confused by this late-night intrusion.
"This is for you, because you are the most important part of my busy day!" She smiled and sleepily drank half her cup of chocolate. Then she drifted back to sleep, not really understanding how strongly I meant what I said.