You Are The Best Person I Know

I received an email a few hours ago that was short - just one sentence - but it made my entire day. It will probably make my week, too.

It said this: "Dear Anita, you are the best person I know, and you have a nice laugh."

It was from my 10-year-old nephew and godson J., with whom I've forged a bond that, according to my sister (who is his mom), no other adult has. He's a good kid, and like so many other youngsters, is challenged by a few things in life.

J. is adopted, which I mention here not as a familial distinction, as he is in my heart as firmly as every other child in my family. I say so because this poor boy was subjected to some things by his biological mother in utero that affected his ability to learn easily and socialize and manage his emotions. He can be a handful. And he can be vulnerable and sweet and thoughtful, too. It's this side of him, I know, that the one sentence came from. That one sentence that cracked my heart open when I read it on my phone, and that made me sit down and write this as soon as I walked in my front door.

How easy it is to make someone feel great just by telling them something we see about them. We need more of that in this world! We need to give it to each other! So even if I don't know you well, and even if I've never heard you chuckle, I know you must be a good egg with a sense of humor, because you've read this far. That's why this one's for you: right now, you are the best person I know, and you have a nice laugh. Oh, and you have great taste in blogs, too.



© 2014 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Easter, With a Needle in My Arm

It's Easter morning, and I'm ready to walk out the door, but I'm not going to a sunrise service or to an egg hunt. In about 90 minutes, I'll be hooked up to a machine that pulls the platelets and plasma out of my most vital fluid, and then cycles the blood back in.

A constant supply of platelets is needed every day for cancer, surgery and transplant patients, and those with blood diseases. One platelet donation delivers what would take five whole blood donations to produce. And for people like me, who have dense platelets...well, I've been told that one of my donations can yield up to three times the usual amount. So I feel honored, since I have so much, to share what comes easily to me with someone else who needs it.

Before I got the call last Thursday, I was expecting that I'd have my usual early Sunday walk with a friend.  Before I got the call, I was planning to go to church with my family and listen to my sister sing with her choir at 10:00 today. Before I got the call, I didn't have to take so many iron supplements to raise my hemoglobin that - well, I'll spare you the earthy details on that one.

But I did get the call. And that's when I found out that, as with other holiday weekends, donations were low - dangerously low, in fact. And I knew this about my walking friend, my family and especially my higher power...none of them would mind if I celebrated Easter with a needle in my arm.



If you're able to give platelets or whole blood, please consider making just 4 donations a year - one for every quarter!  If everyone eligible did that, think of how easily our supplies could be replenished! U.S. donors can visit www.redcrossblood.org to make an appointment today. 

© 2014 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie

Did I Matter?

I went over my dad's last night. I've been trying to see him almost every day, even if it's just for a short visit, because I can see him slipping. He's 89 and still living on his own, by choice: the last bastion of his independence. We sit in the living room with the TV on, and he often is sleeping in his recliner while I'm there, so I tidy up and clean things when he snoozes.

Because of some of the things he says, I know he's examining his life so often these days, wondering if he's made a difference, if he mattered. He's had such a hard life - financial struggles, the death of my brother at 21, dealing with my mom's emotional issues and passing, cancer, kidney disease, major hearing loss...he hasn't caught many breaks. But he's always pushed ahead, and he frequently looks for the single ray of light to make himself feel better about a situation. From time to time, I write letters to my father about what he's meant to us, and how I've learned from watching him, and how he's been the best father we could have wished for. He loves that, and because I can't be sure he can hear all that I say anymore, it's a good way for me to communicate with him, so he takes in every word I want to say.

He grew up in a home that was always short on resources: to a certain extent, money equaled success.  I remember the first time I brought over some Amstel light, he said, "This is the kind of beer rich people drink." (You've got to love that!) Like many parents, he wants to leave his kids something of value. He keeps giving me things, like coins he's saved that he thinks will be worth something someday, or silver serving pieces that have been in his basement for years. He buys lottery tickets twice a week - has for years - because he so desperately wants to leave us all something significant. Of course that doesn't matter to me and my sisters. We just wish he would win, any amount, so that he would feel lucky. 

The older I get, the more I see how much like my dad I am. I never used to think so, because I was always such a bleeding heart, and he was pretty gruff for most of my "formative years." But it's so clear now that I get my own temper (and temperament) mostly from my father. I got the quickly rising anger, the impatience, the nagging feeling of inferiority, the somewhat wary nature, the pride that goeth before a fall. But I also inherited the ability to multi-task with amazing results, the strong work ethic, the dedication to family, the delight in efficiency, the desire to make others' journeys a little easier, the need to prepare and be ready for whatever might come, the generosity...and the love. 

My father's asking so many of the same questions I ask myself these days as I travel on the flip side of fifty years: Have I mattered? Did I make a difference? Did I do the right things with my life? Some days I don't think so, and other days I think I did, and am doing, exactly what I was supposed to. I hope, when all is said and done, my father thinks he did, too.

© 2014 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie