At a recent meeting of mindfulness-based teachers that I attended one of the teachers asked for advice. The teacher had been talking to one of the people who had enrolled in an MBSR (Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction) course and asked whether her mother, now ill, could attend with her. My colleague wasn’t sure whether this was advisable or not because the daughter had implied that her Mom was in the last chapter of her life. We all agreed that this question required further inquiry. What was the mother’s condition? Did she have the energy to participate? Was she interested in mindfulness and in taking the course or was it primarily the daughter who wanted this for her? If you are very ill and on a lot of medicine that clouds your mind and makes it hard to be awake or concentrate it might not be wise to sign up for an eight-week, two-and-a-half hour class that requires daily 45 minutes of home practice. Taking the time to stop, do nothing but observe the workings of mind and body can be very challenging.

The teacher did speak to the Mother and decided it was appropriate for her to take the course. He reported in our next meeting that she had attended the class and he was delighted to have her there. She was in a rehab facility but was able to be attentive and fully participate in class. In fact, he said, “she was a rock star”.  I wasn’t surprised to hear this. In my experience the more we are challenged, whether in pain or living with a life-threatening illness the more motivated a person is to keep attention to the here and now and appreciate the concreteness of the present moment—whatever it is, like it or not because it signifies our aliveness. Who knows what will be in the future but this moment is ours. I learned this from my bouts with cancer and from my father who lived with me at the end of his life. He wrote on an index card that he tacked to the wall, “You can’t stop the bird of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent it from nesting in your hair.”

I am the oldest person attending the teacher meetings and I sometimes feel my age there. Hearing “the last chapter” named Is what really stopped me at the meeting.  “I’m in my last chapter.” I piped out, “What does that mean? I don’t usually think in terms of last chapter. As I approach eighty, I realize I have lived the majority of my life, but my story is still unfolding.  The ending is yet to be determined. When I’m reading a book there is a beginning and an ending, but the author has control and there is a planned order to it. The last chapter usually ties things up. There is a resolution. No more pages to turn. If it is a mystery or a thriller, the kind I’ve been enjoying lately, the villain is caught and the hero continues on miraculously whole, strong, and vital.

I recently spent a weekend with two very dear friends. We had not been physically together since Covid so it was a joy to share bread, laughter, and companionship. All three of us are now in “our last chapter” and we spent our time together adding to our stories and being fully alive and awake. We were filled with questions and the not knowing what was coming next but appreciating the joint exploration. What arose again and again, was gratitude. We also talked about endings, of people we love who have died and how it might be for us. For now, however, we had nourishing meals, thoughtful conversation, and shared love and community. It was what was called for now.