Mets Day 129 - letters from the dust

Yesterday I led the discussion during the adult Sunday School class.  The topic was based on three chapters from the Book of Mormon (Mormon 7, 8, and 9) that set forth the final thoughts of two ancient prophets, written with the knowledge of their imminent deaths.  I opened the discussion by asking who had prepared wills (about half the class), and who had written personal letters to be read after death (one person).  I asked why people had prepared wills and the letter, then asked for examples of writings by people facing death.  We referenced Sir Walter Scott's message to the public before his death in Antarctica, and I read Sullivan Ballou's beautiful letter to his wife written just a week prior to his death at the first Battle of Bull Run.  I asked whether letters written with a knowledge that the writer soon would die carried a greater weight, and if so, why.  One person referenced a recent obituary written by the deceased, recounting his life and regret at having smoked, which caused the lung cancer that killed him. 

During our discussion, I said that I had given some thought about writing letters to Jennifer and each of my children, to be written after I had died.  I noted that, statistically, 90% of people with metastatic bladder cancer die within 5 years, so that there was a good chance that I would not be alive for many joyful family events, such as graduations, weddings, births of children.  I also would miss sorrowful events that are harder to predict but just as certain.  I said that I had begun to mentally compose such letters, but had not yet started to write them.  My intent, I said, would that such letters would become reference points for my family.

With that thought, we explored the three chapters, focusing on the sharp warnings against pride (see Mormon 8:35-39), and instead being humble.  I said how writing this blog has helped me process my journey, and how I had made a deliberate decision to not sugar coat anything, but to tell it how it is.  Doing that, I said helped me stay humble, because I was not trying to be anything other than what I was.  Sometimes, the act of putting into words the emotions and experiences that I am going through is the best way for me accept them for what they are. 

I also referenced Mormon 9:14 ("And then cometh the judgment of the Holy One upon them; and then cometh the time that he that is filthy shall be filthy still; and he that is righteous shall be righteous still; he that is happy shall be happy still; and he that is unhappy shall be unhappy still."), and focused on the last phrases:  "he that is happy shall be happy still; and he that is unhappy shall be unhappy still."  How, I asked, can we be happy in the face of the challenges of this life?  Should I be happy having metastatic cancer? 

From 1981 to 1983, I served as a volunteer missionary in New York City, spending most of my time in the South Bronx.  My mission president would frequently tell us, "happiness is wanting what you've got."  I related this to the Sunday School class, and asked whether I should be happy that I've got metastatic cancer?  Safe to say that no one would choose such a thing.  But it's my reality, and owning it, I can say that I am a happy man.  I am grateful for each day, that my life has been prolonged, and that I can live with as much grace as I can gather and share. 

Perhaps this is one of my letters from the dust.  I intend to write others.  But as John Lennon wrote, life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.