Are you thirsty?
Some of the
Coolest
Most refreshing
Deepest cleansing
Absolutely soothing
W A T E R
doesn’t come from a faucet
Doesn’t pour from a pitcher
Doesn’t spill from a glass
Doesn’t cascade down from the sky

Are you thirsty
Sip with your eyes
Drink with your fingers
Gulp with your ears

Have your fill
And then go about
Quenching
Another’s dripless
Yearning

It’s not so much
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME
YOU DRANK YOUR FILL
so much as 
WHEN  WAS  THE  LAST  TIME
YOU  QUENCHED  A  THIRST.            .            .

If you’re not letting
YOUR   WATER
f               l               o               w
you are
stinking stagnant .            .            .

When  was  the  last  time  you  suffered

T H E       L A S T       S T R A W ?

When  was  the  worst  time  you  endured

T H E      L A S T      S T R A W ?

When  was  the  last  time  you  were  an  Actual

New   Straw   G I V E R?

I could hear him down the hallway long before I reached his room.

He wasn’t the patient I had planned to see that afternoon.

He was a new hospice patient,

who had just come in shortly after lunch.         .         .

He was loud

He was screaming out

for what sounded like a life raft.

There was a lot of activity in the hall way

with someone pushing a food cart;

nurses changing shifts,

visitors and families walking behind patients,

aids serving  patients  needs

but he might as well have been on deserted island.       .       .

and maybe that was his

 last   straw.       .       .

When I walked into the room,

he literally didn’t notice me

for all of his screaming.       .          .

The source of his   LAST STRAW   moment,

literally involved a straw.

It was on the floor.

In reaching for his glass of water,

he obviously misjudged his aim and knocked the glass off his tray.

There wasn’t a lot of water on the floor,

maybe a healthy sip,

but his last straw just wasn’t merely that his cup and straw were on the floor,

but he screaming and yelling

brought no one to retrieve it.

Alone again.

Forgotten again.

Ignored again.

Unheard again.

Angry at his life (or lack thereof),

his predicament,

his illness,

his lack of control,

his isolation.       .       .

he bellowed out!

His face was red and wet with sweat

from screaming out.          .          .

His eyes damp

and his heart empty and broken.

“Here, let me help,”

I said bending down to pick up his cup and straw.

I threw both away in the nearby waste basket

and went down the hall

and got him another cup,

some ice water

 and   yes,

a soon-to-be-another—

L   A   S  T       S  T  R  A  W.

As he was sipping loudly,

I went and dampened a wash cloth with some cool water

and wiped the top of his head, his forehead and cheeks.

I filled up his cup again.     .     .

He drank.      .      .

 He   stopped   slurping.  .  .

as the straw made the sound

 it does

as he sucked up the last few sips

at the bottom.     .     .

Thirst   Q U E N C H E D.          .          .       

He put his hand over top of mine as I held his cup,

extended toward him.

We didn’t exchanged words.     .     .

didn’t have to, either.

He didn’t ask me who I was

or why I was there

and I didn’t tell him

Funny isn’t it.         .         .

the greatest way to eliminate

The Last Straw is.        .        .

.        .         . is just to make sure

T     H     E     R     E          I     S     N ‘  T          O     N     E !

When was the last time you

Suffered  The   LAST   STRAW?

When was the worst time you endured

The  LAST   STRAW?

W     h     e     n,

when was the Last Time

you   actually   were   a

New     Straw     Giver?

Maybe the Hmmmmmmmm of the Day

is realizing that when you are a Straw Provider,

you not only eliminate the Last Straw Syndrome.       .      .

you’ll never have to tolerate a  

Last   Straw   Moment

yourself—-E V E R!

Well now.       .       .

that kind of ceases to,

uhhh, forgive me.      .      .

Suck Like A STRAW.         .         .         .

Hurt people hurt people.         .         .

especially themselves

I don’t keep those statistics.           .           .

over thirty-six years I don’t know how many Celebrations of Life  I’ve conducted of those who have committed suicide.           .           .

Personally, I find only still-born or infant/children Celebrations of Life more difficult to do and

.         .         .to understand.

He literally kept his truck running as he pulled into a parking lot near a bridge and ran to it, full force, until reaching the middle and then without hesitation he hurled himself over the edge to the 200 foot plunge to a ravine below.

W    H    Y  ?

She had just had a long, but painful relationship come to an end.  She ran herself a bath, lined the tub with candles and framed pictures of them–dances, weddings, New Year’s Eve parties, vacations, the recently passed Christmas, kissing under a sprig of Mistletoe they both held above their heads.  A CD they had compiled was playing as she laid back in the warm water and slit her wrists and ankles.

W   H    Y  ?

She received a diagnosis of not just cancer, but cancer that has in fact, metastasized but decided not to let the disease take her life when she could control, the how, the when and the where. . .and did with some meds that she stockpiled and went to bed, to sleep forever one snowy night.

W    H    Y   ?

Straw      is      lighter      than      a      whisper      without      a      breeze

.     .     .unless it’s the last one.     .     .

the one that makes whatever load born now incredibly

u     n     b     e     a     r     a     b     l     e

Such a piece of hay was his

as he faced yet one more strand of straw with the news of possible incarceration

and he walked in front of an oncoming train.

W    H    Y  ?

The studies will tell you that 90% of the people are dealing with a mental illness at the time of their death.

In the end,

because there is the end, 

it really doesn’t matter if it’s because of depression or psychosis,

or an impulse,

or a crying out for help,

or a philosophical desire to die or because of terrible mistake made.        .       .

there’s an end;

I’ve just recently come across an idea I’d never heard or seen before

that spoke to me not so much in words, but

p      u      n      c      t      u      a      t      i      o      n.        .        .

It’s called:

THE    PUNCTUATION    PROJECT

and it’s purpose is the use the semicolon when a sentence could have ended

.       .       .but didn’t;

The movement is for anyone who has ever self-harmed

has a personality disorder

or has tried to kill themselves.

The semicolon is being used as a sign,

a symbol of hope.

It’s      s  h  o  u  t  i  n  g      out:

“YOUR     SENTENCE     IS     NOT     OVER     YET!”

The movement seems to be catching on because,

obviously it’s not just a Robin Williams-like celebrity that commits suicide;

Many are getting it  ‘inked’  on their wrists or other parts of their bodies.

;

I think it’s growing on me.      .      .

this semicolon symbol.      .      .

and if it just allows one.       .       .

j u s t   o n e  

person to keep their sentence moving,

well then.       .       .

Mother Theresa once said:

“THERE   IS   MORE   HUNGER   IN   THE   WORLD   FOR   LOVE   AND APPRECIATION    THAN    FOR    BREAD.”

Indeed.        .        .

the World is one hungry place.      .       .

but you have all the food necessary to feed one

or all carrying that one, single,

devastating    piece    of    straw.

It just may be a phone call,

whether one made to you or the one you share at the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255

or share: suicidepreventionlifeline.org.

There   is   no   greater   sentence   in   anyone’s   book   more   powerful   than the   one   that’s   lived;

punctuated with exclamation points of

love,

acceptance,

compassion

and understanding—

all within your DNA.

H e a l e d    p e o p l e    h e a l e d    p e o p l e

Do me a favor, please.     .     .

Take a quick pop quiz for me;

Oh, come on,

it’s not going to be that bad for a Wednesday

.       .       .and besides,

I’m going to give you the answer:

Deal?

The    A N S W E R    I S:

T              H              R              E              E

Are      you      ready?

Here we go:

Pick a number between 1 and 10.         .         .

Multiple that number by 2.         .         .

Add 6.         .         .

Now divide that number by 2.         .         .

One last step.           .           .

are you ready?

Subtract the original number you picked between 1 and 10.           .           .

Allakazam.           .           .

Abracadabra.            .         .

YOUR        ANSWER        IS        THREE!

I don’t know how that works out,

but   I LOVE THAT IT DOES–every time;

old or new or core math.          .          .

it makes no difference,

THE      ANSWER      IS      THREE!

So.       .       .

so what, right?

Well, I’ve used that example hundreds of times over the past twenty plus years with groups of a few to a few hundred and everyone always gasps with amazement;

I tell folks that it’s one of my favorite definitions/illustrations of Spirituality.     .     .

We may all start out with a different number

but we all arrive at the same place

I   N       T   H   E       E   N   D !

I was reminded of that this by a patient who had just been diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer about 6 months ago.        .        .

He did the research and to his mind felt that with or without interventions/chemo his life span was about the same and with that he chose to forego Chemo and choose Hospice to live out his days with quality since quantity wasn’t in the equation any longer.

He told me that he

NOW      KNOWS      HE’S      GOING      TO      DIE

instead of just merely believing that one day he will die.        .        .

He said,

T   H   A   T   ‘  S         A         G   A   M   E         C   H   A   N   G   E   R ?

I didn’t ask him,

nor do I ask anyone else,

WHAT     THEY     BELIEVE.         .         .

I asked,

What     S  U  S  T  A  I  N  E  D     HIM?

He told me family and friends and his S P I R I T U A L I T Y.      .      .

I asked him what that his spirituality meant

and he told me

an   openness   and   acceptance   of   all   things   and   all   people

And then.         .         .

he gave me such a beautiful illustration:

The night before many family members had been there to visit him and he pointed out the different kinds of water everyone had brought to drink.         .          .

DIFFERENT     NAMES     BUT     ALL     THE     SAME !

Hmmmmmmmmm of the day:

What     I     call     H2O     you     call     WATER.       .       .

It’s a matter of taste, isn’t it?

How absurd is it for me to make fun or shun

or actually kill you for saying:

MY    WATER    is    better

than    YOUR    WATER ?

Or.       .       .or that my ultimate love of Pecan Pie

is more right than your affection of

Mincemeat Pie?

Dare we agree that we may all be saying the same things–

D   I   F   F   E   R   E   N   T   L   Y ?

Blindfolded,

Would you be able to tell the difference between

Crystal Geyser,

Evian,

Fiji,

Aquafina,

Dasani

or the Costco

or Wall-Mart brands?

Pick a number between 1 and 10.        .        .

Sip.         .       .no,

drink deeply and notice that we–

all of us–

truly    are    only    quenched    when    we’re    thirsty

(AND    WE’RE    ALL    THIRSTY    FOR    THE    SAME    THING    BY    A DIFFERENT    NAME)