Kei’s Thoughts

In honor of Sean Taylor and all others whose lives we remember...

In the end –

The value of a man's worth
Is measured by what he has become
 
Tears, tempers and laughters of life
Bringing seeds of change in a man's inner core

The memory of a man's life
Is cuddled by those whom he touched

The legacy of what he leaves behind
Becomes the footsteps to our golden gate

Naked of all earthly desires he enters his gate
Enwrapped and welcomed by the light of love

Kei Gilbert, 11/30/2007

I wrote the following poem after volunteering for a hospice organization. The beauty of helping someone becoming empowered is like watching someone with talent sitting still with a rusty nail, unable to sew. Then a stranger offers a new needle, and slowly the gorgeous work of art unfolds. That is the unexpected gift of volunteerism. The gifts we receive are more than what we give.

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Posted November 8, 2007

What could have been . . .

Sometimes, ordinary days bring sudden chances for making simple decisions which bring extraordinary outcomes.  One day in June was that ordinary day.

I was driving to the doctor's office to get the last hepatitis shot for traveling. Unlike other days when I'm rushing to go places, I was driving slowly, knowing that I was too early for the appointment.  There were no cars on the road, and I was enjoying the tranquility of a quiet neighborhood on a sunny day, listening probably to Il Divo. 

Then suddenly, a little boy flashed in front of me, running in his pajamas, with an elderly man chasing after him, also in pajamas.  He caught the end of the little boy's shirt and was hanging onto him, desperate and determined.  He fell down on the road, but his hand had a firm grip on the little boy, who was equally determined to get away.  This man, probably in his 80s, was probably lost without his cane.

I stopped.  I parked the car.  Grabbed the boy with my one arm, lifted him, and told the elderly man that I would carry him into the house.  Soon, I found myself in a stranger's house, asking the little boy where he'd like to be -- living room or bedroom --  thinking that if he made his own decision, he would be happier.  He said, “Bedroom.” 

He cried saying that he wanted his mommie.  The little boy's mother had left to go to the doctor.  So I used my "teacher voice" to convince him that he would soon be seeing his mommie but he could watch his favorite TV show until then. How special is that? He grabbed a blanket, probably his security blanket, and started to watch TV.

The elderly man still looked shocked.  I must have said something to reassure him.  I then went back into the car and drove to my doctor's office, feeling ordinary again. Yet, coming home, driving exactly where I could have hit the little boy and the elderly man, I thought of the extraordinary event that had taken place.  What if I had not been driving slowly that day?  Did I really carry a stranger's boy into his bedroom and tuck him in?

It was just an ordinary day with ordinary decisions I made that left an extraordinary effect on all of us – the little boy, the old man, me, and probably the mother who heard about it later.  It's interesting that I still feel connected to the family that I knew only for a few minutes . . . The tears of that little boy on my arm still seems real to me.

Kei Gilbert, 11/8/07