For something that happened 35 years ago, I remember the details almost too well. It was Christmas Eve, and I was 14 years old.  There was a fire in the wood burning stove that kept the entire house warm. My father, mother, sister and I were gathered around the family room Christmas tree that was on the opposite side of the room from the television. While the tree in this room didn’t quite compare to the beautifully decorated, catalog worthy Mom’s tree in the living room, it was the more important of the two.  It had the presents under its branches and it was time to open them.

I don’t remember exactly which year we migrated the ceremony from Christmas morning to Christmas Eve, but I wasn’t complaining. The excitement of opening gifts was as strong at 14 as it had been at 6 or 7. I cannot speak for my sister who is 3 and a half years older, but I felt lucky that we got to do it a night early.  Now, in hindsight, I realize this was a brilliant, strategic move by my parents that allowed them not to have to get up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning.

Now, as I was tearing through my haul, I don’t know what I was looking for. But it certainly was not clothes.  And as I opened the box with the black Levi’s, my mouth was faster than my brain. The words came out, “Another pair of jeans. I needed those like a hole in the head.” 

The mood in the room that had been Christmas cheer instantly changed. If tension could have choked me (and if I had understood what tension was at the time) it would have rendered me breathless.  I was beyond the age where a spanking was an effective correction, but my mother was the master of mental discipline.  I don’t remember exactly what I was told, but it was as if my next gift was a one-way ticket on a long guilt trip.

This was the moment I learned about gratitude. This is where I was taught to be appreciative of anything that anyone did for me, especially if they did not ask for anything in return.  I had mistakenly walked into a teachable moment opportunity and my parents did not miss it.  They obviously drilled their point home, as I still think about it, and regret my words three and a half decades later.

I’ve kept no secrets on how gratitude is now an important part of my life. I’ve written how I keep a journal and I have a rule that I must write about one thing I’m grateful for every day and that if I miss a day of journaling, points of thankfulness need to be added for each. It keeps me grounded and reminds me that even on days that aren’t going so well, there are always aspects of my life that are good.

This concept has been with me since that teenage boy learned his lesson but had stayed mostly hidden in my head for many years. What I mean by that is I always knew to say, “Thank You” and I certainly knew not to ever show disappointment or disrespect when someone did something for me, but I was not necessarily expressing gratitude or appreciation for all that I had.

All of that changed with a few words.

Cancer – Aggressive – I can’t promise you’ll be here in a year.

And just like that, everything mattered.

Now, being intentional about gratitude did not happen right away. But expressing it did. I wrote the first draft of “Other Than The Cancer Diagnosis, I’m Pretty Damn Lucky” just two days after the diagnosis and published it exactly four weeks from that day.  My intentions were to process what was going on in my head. What actually came out was an unexpected list of life events I was thankful for having under my belt as I prepared for the fight for my life.

My next blog, “Attitude and Gratitude” was published a month later and from the title, I had clearly moved into full appreciation mode. By this point in time, I had started chemo, had my first hospital stay for an infection and was fully in the ring immersed in the fight. I knew I needed every tool in the bag for the battle. The people in my corner, the well-wishers, the prayers were all keeping me up when I could have so easily gone down. I knew the power of that, and it did not go unnoticed or unappreciated. I accepted and was thankful for everyone and everything that helped me get through.

Now, in a medical fight for your life, your caregivers – doctors, nurses and support staff are your lifeline. For me, showering them with gratitude is the only option. It didn’t matter if it was changing an IV bag, drawing blood, giving me a shot, getting me water or bringing me food, I would genuinely thank them. 

And under no circumstances, no matter how uncomfortable I was or how much pain I was in, would they be spoken down to or verbally attacked. You see, since this started nearly three years ago I’ve spent over 20 nights in hospital beds, and I’ve heard some of the other patients. And they can be downright nasty.  On one hand, it breaks my heart for the caregivers who have dedicated their lives to helping sick people. They don’t deserve any of that.

On the other hand, I would make it a point to be the equalizer. My job was to be the overly grateful easy patient that they wanted to get better, but hated to see go.  Bottom line, if you’re in the hospital, show gratitude and be the light.

For me, as I’ve learned to be intentional about gratitude, it has become much easier to see it everywhere. Every opportunity to enjoy life, every chance to help someone that needs it, every possibility to lift someone up who is down is now something to appreciate. Every morning walk with the dog, every moment with my wife, every opportunity to spend time with loved ones is a gift that is not to be taken for granted.

And now, all these years later, I’m extremely grateful for the lesson I learned that night by the Christmas tree. Even though I hate what I did, I know it was a necessary moment for a boy to learn to appreciate things. To understand everything in life is a gift. Even hard times have lessons that will make you more resilient and hopefully a little bit smarter.

And if you’ve read this far – Thank you. I appreciate you allowing me to share my lessons with you.