I squeeze the ball that fits snugly in my left hand every five to ten seconds.  I feel a twinge in my arm where the needle is inserted.  Resting on the Red Cross cot, I gaze out the window and reflect on my experience as a recipient of the gift of life.

I was 14 years old and had been diagnosed with scoliosis (curvature of the spine) two years earlier.  After unsuccessful treatment, a new doctor recommended fusion surgery to halt the progression of the curvature of my back.  My parents knew this was the only option left for me and surgery was scheduled.

I was in surgery for five hours and received three pints of blood.

My brother, Doug and his friends; brothers, Eddie and Mike donated blood which was designated for me.

Back then I had a serious crush on Eddie and secretly hoped I received some of his blood, but I didn’t know if we had the same blood type.  43 years later, I still like to imagine there’s a bit of Eddie in me.

I understood the importance of being a donor, yet I didn’t make it a priority and donated sporadically.

A couple of years ago, I noticed my high school friend, Jay Nicholson donated regularly.  I read Jay’s Facebook posts and was impressed and inspired by his dedication.  He reminded me how critical the need for blood is and how spending less than an hour can make a difference.

“Heroes come in all shapes and sizes.”

I wondered what motivated Jay, so I recently contacted him.

Question:  How long have you been donating?

Jay:  I started donating in high school.  I’m not sure why but maybe because I worked in the burn ward (at the local hospital) my senior year of high school.  Burn patients go through a lot of blood.

Question:  What motivates you to donate?

Jay: For a while, I gave blood to ensure my family had it if they ever needed it.  But, now it’s a habit.

Question:  How much blood have you donated?

Jay:  I’m over 19 gallons now.  I’m O-, so they like my blood.  I donate double red blood cells about every 16 weeks.  I do wish I could donate more often.

Jay has been donating since the 1970’s.  He typically does a power red donation, which is like a whole blood donation except a special machine is used to allow the donor to donate two units of red blood cells during one donation.

According to the American Red Cross, O- is the universal donor type, meaning those with this blood type can donate red blood cells to anyone.  Jay and I both have the O- blood type, which makes us popular with the blood banks.

“Every two seconds someone in the U.S. needs blood.  It is essential for surgeries, cancer treatment, chronic illnesses and traumatic injuries. Whether a patient receives whole blood, red cells, platelets or plasma, this lifesaving care starts with one person making a Generous donation.”

“One donation can potentially save up to three lives.”

Every time I donate, I think about my own experiences as a recipient and donor.  I’m grateful for my donors and thankful I’m able to give the gift of life and help someone else in need.

Source:  www.redcrossblood.org

An acquaintance’s recent Facebook posts, tributes full of joy and thankfulness to her mom and dad, grabbed my attention.  It’s not often we take the time to recognize and publicly thank our loved ones.  I’ve often wondered why we don’t share how thankful we are until it’s too late.

I believe my Mom knows how I feel and still, I don’t think I can express enough how grateful and thankful I am for her.

Thank you, Mom for….

Teaching me the joy of baking cakes, cookies and pies, including Amy’s Chocolate Cake!  Because of you I’ve spent many happy hours baking for my hungry kids.

Always showing up for school activities and supporting all my interests and endeavors, no matter how silly or crazy.

Driving me to doctor appointments and being my advocate to make sure I got the best medical care possible.

Accepting me for who I am.  For forgiving me when I was mean spirited or indifferent to your support.

Showing me how to love by your actions and words.   It’s always been clear to me that your love is constant, never wavering.  Hugs and affection have never been in short supply in your world.

Showing me how to be supportive.  Although I haven’t always known it, you’ve always been my biggest fan, encouraging me along the way.

Demonstrating a strong work ethic.   You exuded confidence in your professional life and I saw it and emulated it.  You showed me I could succeed if I worked hard and you were right.

Encouraging me to follow my dreams.  To this day, you encourage me to write, travel and pursue my interests.

Keeping our family connected.  This hasn’t always been an easy task with five kids and eight grandkids going in different directions.  Yet, you do it.  You take the time to let us know what’s going on with everyone.  You keep us connected.

Being strong in the face of adversity.  The more you’ve shared, the more I realize how much stuff you’ve been through in your life.   This strength is something I didn’t recognize or understand until I started a family.

Laughing.  For having a sense of humor and cracking jokes and smiling.  People, even strangers see you and know you’re an upbeat lady.  I admire you – a person who truly has never met a stranger.

Staying active even into your 80’s and committed to living a healthy life.  You serve as an example to everyone in our family.

Showing me how to plan for tomorrow, next month and five years from now.  You plan but emphasize we don’t have ultimate control because you know God is in charge and He can tweak your plans at any time.

Giving love another chance by marrying Garry.  After being married for 30 years to Dad, you could have said I’m done with married life.   You were open to love and companionship and because of that you’ve had 37+ years of wedded bliss.  Well, I’m sure it hasn’t all been bliss but you two make it look that way.

Living by example and showing me how to be a supportive and loving mom.  Is there a bigger gift?  I wouldn’t be the mom I am today without your influence.

Most of all, Mom, thank you for being my friend.

The winter break has come and gone.  If I squint hard enough, I can still see wallets, Christmas gifts, keys and other little pieces of your lives on the kitchen counters.  In the stillness of your absence, I think I can hear the X-Box, your music, laughter and good natured teasing.  I can almost smell the coffee, tea, eggs, omelets and oatmeal you made and then devoured while watching Sports Center and Mike and Mike on ESPN.

You burst through the door, excited to have a break from the grind of being a college athlete.  If you’re not studying, you’re working out, throwing or competing.   Time home is time spent recharging your batteries.  So, you did just that – or I hope you did!  But, what you probably don’t realize is that your presence, your hugs, laughter and conversation lifted and energized me.

Thank you for coming home.  Thanks for indulging me like no one can do.  Thank you for riding around looking at Christmas lights and trying my experimental recipes.  Thank you for listening to my childhood stories and asking questions about my life.  I appreciate you updating me on the stuff going on in your lives even if you don’t let me see your Snapchat posts!  Thanks for letting me measure your height without asking me, “when are you going to stop doing it?!”

As you were packing up, I sensed you were ready and excited to get back and on to the next phase.   I know home is a rest stop for you and I’m thankful it’s a place where you’re comfortable.  Before you left, you each gave me a big bear hug.  I watched from the back door as you backed out of the driveway and we waved just like we always do.   Watching you go, I pray a little prayer – thank you and please get them back to school safely!

I watch you go and think about my conflicted, messy feelings, my sadness jumbled up with the joy and gratefulness of knowing you’re following your dreams, embracing your passions and achieving your goals.  My joy always beats out the sadness.

Ask yourself:

What is that thing you want to do?  What have you been putting off doing? Do you want to start a business, watch a sunset from a Hawaiian beach, write a short story, climb a  mountain, be a foster parent, be a volunteer, learn a new trade, try a new hobby, reach out to a long lost friend or love?   The list of possibilities is endless.  Most of us probably have a mental list or maybe it’s in a notebook, safely hidden in a desk drawer.

Anna Jones wrote and self-published her memoir, Ocho Ocho in 2012 when she was 77 years old.  For years, the parts of her story were in her head but life was busy and the time to devote to writing was scarce.  Her kids were on “her case” to do it, frequently giving her hints and suggestions.

In 2011, Jones learned of a memoirs workshop being held at the local senior center in Helena and didn’t want the opportunity to pass her by.  She signed up and began the journey of piecing together her story.  With a mentor’s guiding hand, she completed her manuscript before traveling with her husband, John to see family in California.  On that trip, she had a stroke which left her legally blind.  Calling it God’s providence, she was grateful she was able to write the book before the stroke.

The title of her memoir, Ocho Ocho, represents the Spanish word for eight, for her eight grandchildren.  She explained that more than half of her eight grandchildren are “borrowed” from her husband, John “but she has no intention of giving them back”.  The other half of the title comes from the name of one of her favorite games during her childhood years in Manila – Ocho Ocho.  Chapters in her book are written as letters to each of her grandchildren.

Jones shares her early memories of her life in China and the Philippines during World War II.  Her parents were fraternal workers with the Church of Christ in China.  Her story recounts the occupation of her home in China by the Japanese Army and the capture of the Philippine Islands.  She also shares her experience of life in a Japanese controlled Manila, in an internment camp south of the city and a dramatic rescue.

Jones wrote her story as she remembered it and the point was to share her childhood experiences and how very different they were from her children and grandchildren.  Her memoir is a legacy that provides a glimpse into her interesting and complicated life.

Anna Jones did it.  She completed the thing she’d thought about doing for most of her life.  The thing she did for herself and her family is a source of satisfaction for her and a treasure for her family.

We procrastinate and tell ourselves we’ll have the time, energy or inclination eventually.   Our lists are important to us because they’re our dreams, our daydreams unfulfilled.  It’s a cliché to say that time flies but yet we all know it’s true.  You turn around or look up and another year is gone and with it the opportunity to check something off your list.  So, dust off the list and select something and get after it!

Ugh.  You’re so ugly!  And fat too!  What’s the matter with you, anyway?  Another day, another morning of waking up on the wrong side of the bed.  I look into the mirror, like I’ve done for the last 20 years, as I stumble into the bathroom.  Yes, I look the same and feel the same.  I still have the same inadequacies and strong points.  One last look before I hop into the steamy shower.  Yep, still ugly.

It’s another day of beating the traffic and getting to school at 7 a.m. just to get a close parking space.  Another ordinary day of complaints, of aches and pains and regrets over not studying hard enough or long enough for that tough exam.  It’s just a normal day.  After school I rush off to work.

On my break from work I wander through the busy center, my mind cluttered with that mess I left back in the store.  The center is crowded and I sit down to “people watch.”  It’s like an airport or a zoo today because I can see every type of person imaginable wandering in and out of the stores.

I’m tired and my eyes are weary of the colors and faces and scurrying bodies all around.  I’m hurrying back to the store when I spot her.  She stands out among the crowd.  Her face, so badly burned, reminds me of the marshmallows we used to overcook at the beach when I was a kid.  I looked, but I didn’t stare.  I just couldn’t do that to her.  Her scarred face wouldn’t leave me all night.  My thoughts of respect for that woman who would go into the public as afflicted as she was were strong.

That woman who I saw for perhaps 30 seconds has been on my mind for days now.  The endless stares and sympathy she receives seem unbearable to me.  I try to imagine looking like her.  I try to feel what she feels.  Then I get mad at myself for calling myself ugly and for complaining about my “problems.”

Do I ever stop to appreciate all the good things I do have?  What right, as a healthy and happy person, do I have to complain?  None.  None at all in comparison with all the people who are disabled and who are struggling to make the most of their lives.

I wish now I could have spoken with that woman.  Her face, her demeanor left a strong impression on me.  My outlook is more positive and appreciative, and less vain.  I’d like to thank her for showing me, in an offhand way, to be more appreciative of myself and the world.

This article was first published in the Daily Aztec, the San Diego State University student newspaper in November 1981.

Two people I knew died recently.   I suppose there’s nothing like people in your age group (middle age) dying that makes you stop and pay attention to your own life.

He surprised me.  In the early 90’s when we worked together I thought of him as larger than life.  Tall, strong, handsome.  He always walked with a swagger, as if he was something special and he knew it.  He seemed to know he had the “it” factor.  How did he go from having life light up his face to deciding that life was no longer worth living?

Her ending wasn’t such a surprise as her downward spiral started many years ago.  Her family, friends and co-workers tried to help many times and in many ways over the years.  But, even losing her career to addiction didn’t make a difference.

Pain is the common factor and most of us haven’t been in such deep despair.  Sure, we struggle but somehow manage to grab on to our faith, our strength, our friends and family and we keep going.  The lives lost remind us to keep moving, to try and do it with purpose and direction.  The deaths remind me to not take things for granted, to do the things I say I’m going to do.  They remind me to take the time to share my love and my life, to not hold back.

I’m reminded again that life is short yet precious.  I’m reminded that I have things I want and need to do before I leave this place.  I’m grateful for the reminder but hate the cost.