“One of my clients had candles spread all over her house, in every room,” Diane Button, an end-of-life doula, writes in her book What Matters Most: Lessons the Dying Teach Us About Living.
“They were on nightstands and dressers, surrounding her bathtub, and even along the walkway of the woodsy entrance into her house,” Diane notes.
“There were dozens of them, and they were beautiful, but not one of those candles had ever been lit.”
Diane asked her client when she was planning to light the candles.
“She told me emphatically that she was saving them for a special gathering, one without a planned date or guest list,” Diane recalls. “She was clinging to the hope for the right time to light the candles.”
Unfortunately, her time was running out.
“So, one Friday night, she and her partner lit them all, sat quietly in the living room, and enjoyed the flickering flames dancing throughout the house.”
Her only wish? That she had lit them all sooner.
Diane writes: “If you live with a mindset that tomorrow is not guaranteed, then indeed, today is a very special day. You would light the candles and drink the good wine.”
2: Living each day in the present, as much as we possibly can, was the lesson Diane learned most powerfully from her client, Rosie, who was born with terminal cancer, and her bottle of pink glitter.
“When I met Rosie, she was six years old,” Diane writes. “She had an indomitable spirit and a spunky personality.
“I had the great pleasure of spending time with Rosie; her eight-year-old twin brothers, Jackson and Evan; and her nine-year-old sister, Delilah. The kids were energetic, fun-loving, and always up for an adventure,” she states.
Rosie was full of energy and excitement despite having been in and out of the hospital for surgeries and chemotherapy treatments for brain cancer.
Diane was originally called in to provide some relief to Rosie’s parents, Lyla and Calvin, who were tirelessly trying to raise their young family and two shaggy dogs while also caring for Rosie.
“They were both physically and emotionally exhausted,” she writes, “tending to Rosie’s needs with pure love while also endlessly searching for a new treatment or a clinical trial that might save their daughter’s life.”
Every Wednesday, while Rosie was at the hospital, Diane picked up the three older children and took them to the park so they could run around and just be kids.
“After they got comfortable with me, they began to talk about Rosie and how they were afraid of losing their sister,” she explains. “I was grateful to be there with these children and their sadness.
“I knew that children’s grief often goes unnoticed,” Diane writes. “They have a way of holding it inside, especially when they know their parents are already filled with their own grief and sadness. Our conversations were so pure, and so hard, but I could sense their need to let their feelings out and talk about it.”
Despite the family’s hope and optimism, Rosie was getting weaker. “She was hospitalized more frequently, her appetite was poor, and she had a hard time sitting for a full meal, so these joyful and ‘normal’ moments became few and far between,” she explains.
After another month of unremitting treatments, Lyla shared with Diane that they had accepted the fact that Rosie was going to die.
“She had just brought Rosie home from yet another extended stay in the hospital. She turned to me and said, ‘I don’t want anyone to ever forget her. I don’t want the other kids to forget they had this beautiful sister who loves them so much,'”
Lyla began to cry. Diane reached out and gave her a hug.
“Do you want to work on some art and legacy projects to help the kids remember Rosie?” Diane asked
Lyla cried even harder and said, “Yes! Yes! I really want to do that. Can we do it soon?”
“I immediately found myself working not just with the other children but with Rosie and her parents, too,” Diane shares.
“Together, we made a playlist of all of Rosie’s favorite songs. We created ‘The Rosie Jar,’ a glass jar filled with questions for the family to talk about at the dinner table or when they were gathered in Rosie’s room, designed to share memories and bring the lightness that Lyla craved back into the home.
“They made finger puppets and told stories about the characters they created. They made concrete stepping stones, embedded with bright plastic jewels, and planted seeds in the garden. Calvin quietly took Rosie’s fingerprint to be made into a pendant for Lyla.”
Over the next several months, Rosie’s condition improved. “Almost every visit we painted, at her request,” Diane writes.
“What’s your favorite color?” She asked Rosie one afternoon.
“Pink glitter!” she said with a giant smile that filled the room. “I love pink glitter! It’s so shiny and pretty!”
Diane said she wasn’t familiar with the color pink glitter.
“My mom keeps it on the top shelf, where we can’t reach it. It’s only for special occasions, like my birthday and sometimes when my best friend, Amanda, comes over.”
When Rosie returned to he painting, Diane asked Lyla about pink glitter.
Turns out it was a batch of paint that Rosie’s grandmother had mixed together. They always added some silver glitter on top, and that was how they made the color called pink glitter.
“I don’t think we could ever mix that color again, so we save it for special occasions,” Lyla said.
Diane paused, searching for the right words. “But I didn’t have to. She understood.”
As Lyla reached for the top shelf and the pink glitter paint, all the children screamed with delight.
“None more so than Rosie. After all, it was her favorite color,” Diane shares.
“We painted with pink glitter for an entire day,” she recalls. “Rosie smiled nonstop, and for those short moments, Lyla smiled, too, forgetting about Rosie’s bald head and the tumor growing rapidly at the stem of her brain.”
3: The holidays were approaching, and Rosie wanted to create something for her family as a surprise. So, for Diane’s next visit, she brought blank canvases and an idea.
“We divided the canvases into two sections,” she explains. “On the right side of the canvas, each person painted only with their favorite color. On the left side, they painted whatever they wanted.
“When I returned a few days later, we dipped Rosie’s small hand into a plate of the bright, homemade pink paint, pressed it onto the right side of each painting, and then sprinkled each handprint with loads of silver glitter.
“They were magnificent,” Diane writes. “Rosie had created a pink glitter masterpiece for everyone in her family.
“Rosie lived comfortably for three more months. She died at home at the age of seven,” she notes.
“Weeks later, when I stopped by to visit Rosie’s family, the first things I noticed were Rosie’s vibrant, pink, and glittery handprint paintings hanging on the wall in the family room.
“I will never forget her and the lesson I learned from pink glitter,” she writes. “Rosie did not have the luxury of countless days ahead of her, and we may not either.
Diane’s advice? “Instead of waiting for that special day to come, make today a special day and enjoy it fully!”
More next week.
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Reflection: When you look around your house, what are you saving for another day? Can you imagine the joy you might feel right now if you embraced the idea that today is indeed a very special moment? If you had a limited number of days left to live, what would you do differently with those things you’ve put aside?
Action: Today is a special day, and right now is a special moment.
Rip the tag off that fancy dress and wear it.
If you have your favorite chocolate in the refrigerator, eat it.
Open the champagne.
Use the good dishes.
Take a bath with the good bubbles.
Burn the beautiful candle.
Use the pink glitter.
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