One night during my chemo tenure, I attended a performance of the “Mystical Arts of Tibet” presented by a group of visiting Tibetan monks. In the audience was a woman I had seen earlier that day at the sand mandala closing ceremony. On both occasions, her beautiful hat caught my eye. Sporting a bald head, I instinctively gravitated toward interesting head gear. I decided to inquire.
“Excuse me, ma’am, where did you get your hat?”
She’d found it in one of our local shops. That day or the day before.
“It’s really nice. You see, I’m doing chemo and I’ve lost my hair and – ”
She interrupted. “I know.”
We paused. Then she took off her hat and extended it to me.
“Would you like it?”
“Uh –” I stammered, thinking immediately that this is not what I intended.
“Here, take it. I can always go and get another one.” And she handed me her hat. With a mixture of surprise, embarrassment, humility, and gratitude, I accepted.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I’ve just been through this with my partner. And I almost lost her.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay; she’s better now.” And then looking right at (or rather through) me, she directed, “Get better.”
“I am,” I nodded reassuringly (whether for her or me, I am not so certain).
Her tears brought shyness and she looked away. For how much can you reveal to a stranger? And what need be said, anyway?
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
Another moment passed, and I gently inquired, “What’s your name?”
Once more she looked at me and this time shook her head, silently waving me on through her tears. As if it didn’t matter who she was or who I was. That conventions of name and form unnecessarily hampered this slice of impermanence. That our moment here together touching raw truth was the only thing of any import.
Honoring her request, I returned to my seat with her (now my) beautiful hat – and a head full of wonder. For the gift this woman bestowed on me that evening generated much more than just protection for my bald skull against the late autumn chill. From her I learned that pain shared opens doorways and that one’s disease may help another heal. That compassion and love need no words to explain them. That beauty quadruples when we release it. That true generosity has no source here. That the warp and weft of our intertwining lives yields a tapestry far more magical than anything we could ever imagine as individual threads. For all this warmth enfolding the cold hard edges that sometimes life carves, I bowed then and still now – safely enveloped in humility, gratitude, silence and awe.
Ahh i love hearing this story again. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, Joy. It’s fun to revisit these stories… and sometimes challenging too! This one is one of the beauties…
Thank you! Would you believe that I cried?
Minor edit: “She’d found it in one of our local shops. That day or the day before.” I think, “shops, that”
Blessings, my friend.
Jordan
I cry too, rereading some of this stuff, Jordan. So yes, I believe it.
Thanks for the writing suggestions – I appreciate them.
Raw truth, the wisdom of all ages. It does slice to the core and leave us feeling…penetrated to our bone, breathless, numb. And then, we breathe into fresh awareness. BTW: It’s time to wear your hat again!
Yes, Christy, I just pulled it out of the closet and put it on again. Looks great! And someday, I may come across a beautiful courageous vulnerable woman who will love it and it will become hers…
Beautiful!!!!
Thanks, Mary!
Oh my….I recall you wearing that lovely hat to one of our yearly Winter Concerts and you looked ravishing! You told me the story that night and it touched me deeply…but the way you have just now written it took it to an even deeper level. You are a master of words! I am weeping.
Donna
Thank you, Donna. As I said to Jordan above, I too tear up when I revisit these stories. When I’m touched by my own writing, that’s when I know that I’m digging deep. I think that’s a good sign.
thank you..great story…lovely writing
Thanks, Rache!
moving.
Thank you, Sara.
What a beautiful reminder of the “magical tapestry” of “our intertwining lives.” It seems to me our most memorable and precious moments all reveal/reflect this deep truth of “interbeingness,” and your written reflections – and life – continue to unfold new occasions for wonderment. Thank you again.
I remember lying on my bed at times during this whole process and realizing that the only thing that truly mattered was relationship. That inter-beingness you reference, Dennis. It is the most precious of opportunities. Thanks for elucidating that point!