November 27, 2011
Dear FAMILY, Dear FRIENDS,
The great expanding silver star, the jewel in the fireworks treasury, is bursting before you, representing the joys of Christmas and the many gifts you give me year-round.
But our dark griefs do not diminish in this light, as seasonal cheer tries to make us
believe. They retreat into a central privacy for the rest of our lives. Their secret darkness makes the brightness of Life’s Gifts brighter when they come. And I have many such gifts to report.
Adara Belle, daughter of Johnelle and Nicholas Burnett, granddaughter of Clint and Kay, great-granddaughter of Jane, was born in Austin, Texas, on November 25, 2011, 19 3/4 inches and 7 pounds.
Celebration of Thanksgiving was all the greater as Julia from New York, David and Clare from Tahoe were with me.
And we will dance at the wedding of Jane Elizabeth Renaud (David and Clare’s
daughter) and Thomas Hunter Nelson at the Umlauf Sculpture Garden in Austin, Texas, on June 9, 2012.
At present, I am in routine hospice care, which is far more delightful than it sounds.
Making a reservation to cross the River Styx and missing the boat is a little embarrassing.
But meanwhile, I am getting wonderful care. Dear granddaughter Alice has just spent
three days with me. Son Tabor’s visit was wonderfully healing. Nana was joyfully here a week. Kay’s visit was another happy dance. Clare is a steady-goer, supporting every project.
Telephone calls, roses, raspberry sorbet, and classical music can make me feel like a
queen. I have good news for you. I believe what Walt Whitman has said that “to die is easier than anyone supposed and luckier.” I am in pain only rarely, and look at all the fun I am talking about. Still writing some poetry and stories. Still conducting the Book Club. Still thankful for every moment of life.
We are sadly surrounded by black, unforgiving political words, blocking us from
promise. Perhaps we can break through next year. My wise friend Michael McCaffry
says, “Ideology kills.”
I look forward to your responses and shall surely answer them. All you do, and all you are to me, supports me, minute to minute.
Christmas Joy to all,
Love,
Jane
Row, Row, Row Your Boat
(at 93)
Well, I don’t really row much any more.
The current is swifter now.
I use my oars as rudders to keep a steady course
Toward the Open Sea, beyond.
The long voyage never seemed a dream:
Though many views were dazzling,
The rocks and rapids were real enough.
But I was lucky, for there were always fellow voyagers
To help with the struggling portages
Around the deathly falls.
Now, the sun smiles almost every day
Upon the peaceful fields and homes along the bank.
People wave at me from balconies and bridges,
And I can hear the faint thunder of the surf
And see the light above the Great Sea, ahead.
May all your fellow voyagers be equally gifted and cheerful and learned and wise.
ReplyDeleteRow, row, row your boat dear Jane, to the open ocean. When you retired from your lectureship at the University of Queensland, you and Tabor took a ferry boat on the Brisbane River to celebrate. I can see you now, celebrating on the top deck of your splendid row boat, waving to the crowds of loving friends on the shore. Bless you, you've been a marvelous friend and inspiration. With much love always.
ReplyDeleteI am so happy, Jane, that your path in life crossed mine, albeit briefly and only in latter years. The impact will remain with me until I row my boat and your treasured words inspire me. I look forward to celebrating you at your Memorial.
ReplyDeleteJacqui
My husband, Richard, and I are deeply saddened by your parting, Jane. You have left a large space in the world, but we are consoled by knowing that your wonderful spirit will live on in that space by way of your superb writing, and by your devoted family and friends. We will miss you so much, but hope to meet you and Clark again in the next world. "Rest in Joy, Dear Jane!" With our love, Helen and Richard Brooks
ReplyDeleteJane will always be with me. She is a seeing heart, and the mirror that reflects back all the goodness. I tasted God's unconditional love in her eyes. When I was with her, I felt like I was the most important person in her life.
ReplyDeleteI would pick her up on Sunday morning so we could worship at Saint Mark's, and she would say how beautiful I looked! It was too easy to forget how limited her vision was. She was always interested in the soap story of my life, with its ups and downs. I learned how to stop taking myself so seriously, to let go, to allow myself to be cherished, and in so doing learn to show how I cherish those in my own sphere.
And to be thankful - for all the blessings and challenges this day will bring.
Each day I strive to carry out Jane's life lesson on being a Seeing Heart, and a Mirror of love and acceptance.
Blessings to all of you.
This post is from Barbara Crafton, Episcopal priest and inspirational writer:
ReplyDeleteTHE TWO BASKETS
If it is so -- as it surely must be -- that God has no past, present or future, but encompasses all of these in an eternal NOW, that the One who "has the whole world in His hands" holds everything material but is neither held nor limited bit anything, then it must also be the case that we are also in it. Already. It is not an afterlife, at the end of a linear progression of minutes, years and centuries; it is an also life, existing all around the life we know, and containing it.
It is as if there were two baskets, a large one and a small one. The smaller basket sits in the larger one, which easily holds it. We live in the smaller basket: we and everything we love and hate, we as we are now, and we as we were. We as we shall be. The world as it was before we arrived, and as it will be when we have departed it. The universe from its first inorganic breath to the final sigh of its extinguishing. What was, is now and what shall be -- it is all in the smaller basket, our beautiful home.
We love it here. Almost all of us never want to leave. We count our departure from it as tragedy, the departure of those we hold dear as unbearable loss. Many of us refuse even to discuss that ending: won't make out a will, won't see the life insurance agent, won't choose a healthcare proxy. Won't even say the word "died.". And the ending of the universe that contains us? We find it inconceivable.
It is in the nature of baskets to have holes, is it not -- openings between the strips of wood or straw or grass that have been woven together to form them? If you were in the smaller basket, you might, from time to time, peer out one of the openings to see what's out there. Sometimes you see it in a state you call dreaming. There's something out there, that's for sure, and sometimes you get a glimpse. But the opening through which you peer is small, and you can't really get a good look. And who cares what's out there, anyway? You like it here. Everything you love is here, in the smaller basket.
One day, though, the smaller basket begins to crumble. Soon you stand amid the shards of it. You look around and see that you are in another basket. You see, in fact, that this is the very place you saw, those times when you peered out of the tiny openings in the smaller basket. Oh, you say to yourself, I know this place! I have always been here. Everything I loved has always been here. Everything is here.
All our times are there. All our loves. All our possibilities, including the ones that never bore fruit here in the smaller basket. Everything has always been there. As you have aged, loss has stabbed you many times, and you have bled freely from the wounds. But take heart. The fragile loves we clutch in a vain attempt to hold them here? They all wait there, just outside the basket's thin walls. The smaller basket is pregnant with us.
Our first birth into this world is frightening, I think -- a perilous journey through an impossibly narrow opening. It must be terrifying for the little traveler -- even a year or two later, you try to put a turtleneck on a toddler and it evokes an unpleasant memory. But the journey inaugurates the life we love. It's worth it.
We live in fear of our second birth, the one we call death. But it is probably the same: a transition from one state to another, from the rules of one world to a world in which they do not apply.
So be of good cheer. And stay tuned. What we see is not all there is.
The Almost-Daily eMo from the Geranium Farm Copyright © 2001-2011 Barbara Crafton - all rights reserved
I had the wonderful privilege of speaking with Jane a couple of days before she passed away. While her body was failing, her mind and spirit were as exuberant as ever. She was embracing death as enthusiastically as she embraced life. She is one of the most remarkable people I have ever known and I am so thankful that Stanford's Continuing Studies brought her into my life.
ReplyDeleteJane once shared in class that when each of her children were born, she would look at them and say, “If I do my job right, you will need me less and less each day.” This has been a wonderful framework for me as I raise my own two small boys. And yet, now that Jane is gone, all I can think is that I need more of Jane. And that the world needs more of Jane.
Even in her 80s, Jane's passionate lectures brought such life to literature. Perhaps I can get brief Jane “fixes” by revisiting her biography of Rose Macauley from time to time – Jane had such a unique and passionate voice, and I suspect she will come to life for me when I read her words.
Jane, thank you for all the wonderful support and inspiration you gave to me.
Kirsten Romer
As I hung the ornaments on our tree I thought of Jane, as I do every year. Early in our marriage she gave us a lovely set of satin ornaments from Mexico as well as a "clown ball" (as she named it) to always remind us of her! It is a simple white ball, covered with flashy royal colored sequins and stripes. We love you, Jane! Liz and Mark Bucko
ReplyDeleteMy husband, Richard, and I are deeply saddened by your parting, Jane. You have left a large space in the world, but we are consoled by knowing that your wonderful spirit will live on in that space by way of your superb writing, and by your devoted family and friends. We will miss you so much, but hope to meet you and Clark again in the next world. "Rest in Joy, Dear Jane!" With our love, Helen and Richard Brooks
ReplyDelete