"I shied away from saying too much," Ralph explained. "It would've been foolish to give advice when I lacked understanding about your situation." He peered at the crows perching poetically on a fallen tree. "We could talk about our deaths from here until the time comes, but that won't change anything. It'll happen regardless—with whatever might be after this."
I nodded. Ralph is 90 years old, and I appreciate how he delivers honesty with a hint of empathy that makes any truth more palatable.
"And even though we're not in the same situation..." He paused as if shepherding his thoughts. "I can't fathom fighting cancer at the age of 42. But I do know what fighting cancer is like now, at least for myself."
When Ralph's son called me in November, I shook as I answered the phone. I knew something was wrong. "They found a brain tumor," Todd had said. "My dad wanted you to know."
Ralph stayed in the hospital for weeks upon weeks. Surgeons removed the brain tumor, and despite numerous setbacks, Ralph carried on, brave... humor intact. We brought a Thanksgiving dinner to him and his son—and despite their struggles and hardships, they continually asked how we were doing.
"Us?" I said. "We're just worried about you." The day before, oncologists had told Ralph that although they could lengthen his life with treatments, he would eventually die from brain cancer. And yet, he still wanted to ask about everyone else, eagerly listening to Indy share stories about her boyfriend before Trey answered questions about his apprenticeship.
I watched Ralph's eyes light with wonder while he selflessly listened to the kids, and tears filled my eyes. Ralph is pretty incredible.
One of the crows hopped onto the ground by Ralph's feet and brought me back to the moment: May of 2025. "Elisa," Ralph said, "doctors have told both of us that we will eventually die from cancer. I couldn't tell you this before because I couldn't possibly understand... But the best thing we can do is exercise acceptance."
I sighed. The two toughest words—for me—in the English language are patience and acceptance. But as I really mulled his words, I knew Ralph was right.
"It's terminal, Elisa. Still, we shouldn't let that rob us of today. We need to use the truth as a tool, a weapon to help us appreciate even the hard times. Even if things have changed for both of us."
"Do you have any regrets?" I finally asked.
"I think everyone does. If they're honest with themselves."
"Does that ever change how you're living in the present?" I wondered what he might say since he's so forthcoming.
"When I look back, sure, it could get easy to laser in on what I could've done differently, but then I look at the big picture. I've lived a good life. I have. So, I focus on those things and try to make my time now the best possible by doing things like this."
"Talking with a friend and watching crows?" I asked.
"Exactly."
After I got home, I decided to think about the incredible life I've led and am still living. I numbered a notebook from 1–84 and wrote two things for each year of my life, representing time well lived. The list includes moments like "remember hearing the violin for the first time," "got to meet all of my babies," "married my dream man," and "moved to Idaho." Then, I tried to find little items around the house that would remind me of the very best memories from my life.
"Mama?" Indy bounded into my room. "You seem so happy today. What are you up to?"
I'd been placing items in a glass box. "You know Grandma Stilson's happiness file?" I asked, and she nodded. My grandma filled a recipe box with little sayings to cheer her up when she felt sad. "I guess I'm making a happiness box. These things remind me of how fortunate I am."
Indy sat by me and beamed. "There's a picture of me!" she said.
"Of course there is." And we giggled together.
"Oh! These are gorgeous. What are these?" She held two ceramic earrings to the light, and little rainbows shot onto the wall behind her.
"Before I saw Mike at the altar on our wedding day, my maid of honor gave me the most beautiful box from him." Indy passed me one of the earrings, and I cradled it. "Inside were these handcrafted earrings and a matching necklace. Mike had no idea what my dress looked like or that the necklace was the perfect length with the bodice. But that moment, combined with a million other tiny things, made me so grateful I'd even met such an exceptional man." I returned the earring to Indy and watched her place it back in the box. "I could hardly believe he was marrying me. I figured if you kids could grow up to be like anyone, I'd want you to be like Mike. And all of you are. You're kind and good. You're... exceptional."
"That was the neatest day," Indy said. She was only 5 when I married Mike, but even then, she'd been so excited to have him as a permanent part of our lives. When she met him, she couldn't say "Mike Magagna," so she started calling him "My 'agagna" and the name has stuck ever since.
Indy and I poured over the items in the box; she asked questions, and I answered.
"These stories are so awesome, Mama. What made you want to do this today anyway?"
"Ralph," I said. "He told me something about acceptance. It was tough to hear at first, but I see now how right he was. Life can be filled with hard moments, but the good outweighs the bad. I want to focus on that when I think about the past and when I'm busy trying to appreciate the present.
"Me too," she said. And later that evening, after I hugged Indy goodnight, I noticed a little box she'd placed on her dresser. Inside were trinkets I'd given her over the years.
So, as I drifted to sleep that night, I didn't worry about death or regret, terminal illness, or losing friends too soon. Instead, I focused on the good things: the fact that I'm alive and still able to appreciate so many incredible moments, like watching crows with Ralph, reminiscing with Indy, or continuing to fill my very own happiness box with reminders of joy.
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