Leaving an Impression — The Year of “Yes”

Our children were quite young when my mother died, six, eight and ten years old. Not babies by a long stretch but young enough to only be left with sketchy memories of their grandmother. Thankfully these memories are good ones.

Immediately following her recovery from the surgery that confirmed her fate, my mom began to live a year of “Yes”. She didn’t actually get an entire year to live the “Yes”, but she packed a lot of “Yes” into her time that remained. She impressed upon her grandchildren the fact that they were loved. She began to show up in places that she might not have, in the years before “Yes”.

Mom’s clock was always off, she was never a morning person. During her year of “Yes” mornings were suddenly not a problem. She appeared at places at the crack of dawn. She showed up at the Little League Baseball opening day parade. She was just another face in the crowd when the field full of little boys tossed their caps into the air and cheered the upcoming season. Our son was eight years old, he had no idea that he’d been the recipient of a “Yes” at the time. The “Yes” was just for him – and maybe a little bit for mom – she knew she wouldn’t have another opportunity to witness opening day, or her grandson’s excitement for it.

Mom was never keen on the water, she wasn’t fond of swimming or boating, which made her “Yes” to the whale watching trip, on the west coast of Vancouver Island, something very brave and special. My sister and I made all the travel arrangements and our combined children (six in all), were bursting with excitement. Circumstance would have it that Mom didn’t actually take the whale watching portion of the trip. But the kids remember her being on the adventure; boarding the tour bus, the ferry ride to Nanaimo and the enchanted stop in Cathedral Grove. They remember walking on Long Beach with their Gramma. I can recall in vivid detail the wind, the surf, the warm coats and the look on my mother’s face when she got a glimpse of the vastness of the Pacific Ocean for the very first time. Her expression handed me a “Yes” that I have cherished all these years.

She dished out hundreds of “Yes”s that year. “Yes” to early morning trips to the rink to watch skating lessons. “Yes” to parties and coffee dates, dinners and excursions. She said “Yes” to everything, until she couldn’t anymore.

I think we were all saying “Yes” that year. “Yes” to the charade, “Yes” to pretending we had lots of tomorrows and this keen adventurer would be part of them.

And then we had to say “Yes” to the hospital. “Yes” to facing reality and accepting the truth. That’s when the “Yes”ing adventurer really stepped up her game. She said “Yes” to more surgery. “Yes” to chemo. “Yes” to buying more time. “Yes” she was up to the challenge.  And “Yes”, she would help us all face what the future held.

That year of “Yes” changed everyone it touched – even those little people who had no idea that magic was happening. We all learned a valuable lesson – maybe not one we remember on a daily basis, but a true game changer.

I don’t think we can possibly live every day like it might be our last – that’s maudlin and exhausting. But a little bit of “Yes” every day is something that I think we could, and should, strive for. “Yes” to the moment. “Yes” to opportunities that present themselves. And “Yes” absolutely every time we have the chance to love something.