Fleeting Moments

Spring time is my favourite season. I love watching Mother Nature putting on her green coat with a sprinkling of tulips and daffodils. Alas... the season is fleeting. It seems like just the other day I caught my breath as I looked at the apple tree in bloom. The tree looked like a giant pink cotton candy and brought a smile to my face. But today the flowers are already fading. The petals are floating to the ground with each breath of the wind covering the base of the tree in a pink shroud.

Nature gave me a fleeting gift of a tree in bloom. I am glad that when I saw it, I actually saw it. Not just with the corner of my eyes as I was driving by but I saw it with my whole being. I "saw" the apple tree in bloom and registered in my head and in my heart how beautiful it was. I felt awed. I felt grateful for witnessing nature at work in all its grandeur.

Recently I read an article in the Yoga Journal magazine by Frank Jude Boccio entitled I'm so happy for you. Boccio explores the concept of impermanence. When we are aware of the impermanence of things it can enhance our ability to touch joy, even for just that moment. Boccio writes:

"Both Patanjali and Buddha emphasize that much of our duhkha (suffering or discontent) arises because we live as if the current conditions were permanent." When things are going well, we attempt to live as if they always will (...) And when things are going poorly, we imagine that this will always be the case, forgetting that bad times too will pass."

When one becomes conscious of the fleeting nature of all things, including ourselves, we do not take anyone or anything for granted. That is what they call living mindfully. When you are in the presence of something that fills you with joy, you soak in that moment. On the other hand, when you face difficulties or setbacks you may be more resilient because you know that this too shall pass.

This notion of impermanence has taken on a greater meaning for me this week. On Monday I got an emotional phone call from my 80 year old father informing me that the nagging pain he had in his lower abdomen for the past few weeks was in fact cancer. Four days later, the surgeon took out a tumour the size of a grapefruit from his abdomen. Now we are waiting for the lab results...

Since I found out that my father had cancer, I have been on an emotional roller coaster. Yes, in my darkest moments, I have reflected on the possibility of losing my father to cancer. What would my life be like without his loving presence? We live in the same town, we talk on the phone and visit every week. He has always been there for me, as a child and today, as a parent myself.

Memories of my father have danced in my head this last week. The small things stand out. The heart-shaped sandwiches and homemade valentine he would leave by my bed on Valentine's Day. The mashed potatoes and milk he coloured green in honour of St. Patrick's Day. The cartoon characters shaped pancakes he would make (and sometimes still makes upon special requests) on Saturday mornings. My father's big hand holding mine on the way to church when I was a child and years later, as I was crying over a boyfriend who broke my heart as a young adult. The chocolate icing cake (as my daughter's affectionately call it) that he makes especially for his grand-children's birthdays. The homemade 3D personalized birthday cards that he makes for everyone of his children, grand-children, brothers and sisters every year without fail.

Some of those things I truly appreciated in the moment, especially the birthday cards which are the highlight of my birthday every year. (A few years ago, I celebrated my 45th birthday on a trip in Kyoto, Japan, with my husband. Even though we had a spectacular day visiting temples and shrines, something was missing. When I got back home, my father gave me my birthday card and it seemed then, and only then, that all the pieces had fallen into place.) Other things, I took for granted. They made me happy at the time but I did not realize how memorable they would become.

I regret that I was not conscious of how meaningful and joyful those ephemeral moments were when I lived them. I don't think I knew then that forty years later those heart-shaped sandwiches would still mean so much to me. If I could go back in time, knowing what I know now, I would savour those moments. I would take a picture in my mind's eye to capture the feeling of happiness and contentment forever.

Knowing what I know now, I will gain courage in knowing that this difficult and painful time is also impermanent and that happier times are ahead.

Knowing what I know now, I will seize every opportunity to tell my father that I love him and that I am grateful for all the loving kindnesses he has given me over my lifetime. I will keep savouring each and every impermanent moment with him in the years to come, once he has beaten his cancer. And maybe, just maybe, it will make up for all those years when I lived happy moments with my eyes closed.

In fact, knowing what I know now, I vow to live my life in the present moment. Not longing for the past or blaming the past. Not planning for the future or worrying about the future. Living in the now, feeling the happiness of happy times and the sadness of sad times.

Knowing what you know now, is there anything that you would like to do differently? By reminding yourself of the transitory nature of life, what joys take on more meaning and what heartaches become more tolerable? Who do you need to say "I love you" to in your life today?