Four weeks ago, on Sunday morning, March 3rd, I had just left my house for a walk with my dog Coach, when old friend Rippy Philipps called. “Biddy, I have terrible news. Billy had a heart attack this morning. He didn’t make it.”

He was a very close friend whom I saw frequently and spoke to every few days. He was 59. A college teammate, fittingly, Billy was our goalie. If you know anything about lacrosse, you can understand why it is the rare person who would even consider standing before a 6’ x 6’ goal, with light protection on, attempting to get in the way of a hard rubber ball being shot toward him at 90 miles an hour. But that was Billy. Of course he was a goalie. The consummate team player.

We connected over lots of things, sports, fishing, cooking, and music to name a few. After I lost my wife, Billy circled closer to me. He knew I needed care, and he was there for me. When it was his turn to endure a couple hurricanes in his life more recently, it was my turn to circle closer to him. We cared about each other. And we took care of each other. This is what humans do for one another.

Margaret Mead, the renown cultural anthropologist, author and speaker, spent her career understanding how humans treat one another. As the story goes, a student asked her what she considered to be the first evidence of civilization.

Her answer didn’t mention tools, earthen huts, or the vestiges of language. Instead, she said it was evidence of a broken femur that had healed 15,000 years ago. You see, when an animal breaks a femur, it can no longer forage for food, nor can it escape predators. So it surely dies, before it can heal.

In the case Mead referred to, another human had to help and care for this person. Another human had to have had compassion, had to have spent several months with that person, feeding them and protecting them until they were healed. While that scene played out, no doubt, mostly outside in the elements - in a completely different world than we live in today - I have to think the feeling in the heart of the cared for, and the care giving, were exactly the same as the feeling one would have today in a similar scenario.

I go here, because among Bill’s many wonderful qualities, was his utterly genuine interest - his care - for other people. I can still remember the expression on his face when I saw him at my wife’s service. It was the face of care.

When we all gathered 3 weeks ago to celebrate Billy’s life, we talked a lot about his intrinsic orientation toward “care.” He had that rare gift of seeing another person free of titles, class, race or social status. He saw them for their humanity, and his first inclination was always to offer his help and company. I’ll never forget going into Olga’s Deli near his house to provision for an all day fishing trip, watching Billy work his magic with other patrons while we waited in line. He might start a conversation about the Giants quarterback problem, or ask a contractor about the merits of different decking materials. Invariably he’d chat up the sandwich makers and clerks, offering gratitude for the good food they made for us. That we paid for it wasn’t part of the equation to him. They made food for us. Everyone Billy talked to realized that a “stranger” just took an interest in them. And their day was somehow a bit better.

At his celebration of life, I was moved to say some words, encouraging the crowd to practice seeing their fellow humans in this way. How then, might that make a difference in our world? How can we become a little less guarded, less centered on our own self, and more interested in the self of another? Maybe developing an attitudinal orientation that frequently resets to the question: “How can I help you?” is a start.

Before I conclude this post, I want to mention another dimension to care, that’s quite literally the root of it all. A dimension you need to have in place before you can properly offer care to another. This is care for one’s own self.

Sometimes we can find ourselves bent on caring for others, but not doing such a good job at caring for ourselves. Billy suffered some health problems - for one, a few years ago after a surgery he contracted sepsis, a life threatening condition where the body attacks its own organs in response to untreated infection. This nearly killed him, and created serious complications that required surgeries etc.

In Mindfulness, there are 4 “Foundations.” Mindfulness of Body is the first foundation. Our body is our first and in a sense, only true home. It is our gift, and our physical means to experience the world. It houses our brain, thus our mind is a physical thing. Our first obligation as a caring person, is to care for ourselves, starting with our body.

The body needs nutritious food, and not too much. It needs good sleep, and not too little. It needs clean water (which ironically and fittingly is what Billy worked his whole adult life to provide, as a hydrogeologist), and a peaceful place to inhabit. It needs exercise. All of these things are available to you.

Tara Brach, in a recent module of the Mindfulness Meditation Teacher Certification Program I am enrolled in, said “the tissues hold the issues.” SO we need to be kind to this body of ours, to give it the care it needs.

Time to take Coach for a long walk.

Happy Easter!

Yours in Practice,

Pete

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