To every thing there is a season–and a time to every purpose under heaven. –Ecclesiastes 3:1

For me, the 28 days between the decision about Jane’s surgery and her death were about being strong and positive and honest with her about what we knew when we knew it. It was a time of testing and trial for both of us.

These 28 days this year are proving to be a time for grieving–but also a time for reflecting. I am trying to keep the grief out of these posts and provide the lessons of the reflections.

But given some of the responses people are sending me either personally or through Facebook  I must be sounding pretty depressed, though that is not the intent of the exercise.

As my grandfather used to remind me, intelligence is learning from your own mistakes–wisdom is learning from the mistakes of others–and while I appreciate the kind words and thoughts so many of you have directed my way, the best anyone can do for me is to learn from what Jane and I experienced. For doctors and researchers that means gleaning everything they can from Jane’s case about the disease and how best to treat it. If they can–as two of her doctors have told me they do–find inspiration in the way she faced this and who she was, that helps as well.

But there are lessons here for the rest of us as well: the importance of talking about death and our end-stage wishes before we can no longer express those desires; the importance of getting regular check-ups, of going to the doctor when we know something is wrong, of not settling for a non-diagnosis like IBS; and most importantly living a life in which love, honor, and forgiveness are the forces that drive our actions every day.

Honestly, my father did get it right when he told me the night she died that now I truly knew what he had experienced when my mother died: there is nothing people can say that will make this feel any better.

But there are things beyond words that do help: every time someone has that end of life discussion, every time someone goes to the doctor about what is bothering them, every time a doctor keeps digging for answers–looking for zebras when that is the right thing to do–I feel like her death has made a difference in the lives of others the same way her life did.

And when I see someone show the kind of unconditional, forgiving, honorable love that she gave to me, to those around her, and to the world, it raises my spirits and fuels the fire within me. Those small and random acts of kindness do what no words can. They erase–if only for a few moments–the grief I feel and remind me that there is a spark of the divine in each of us that can flare up at any moment into a roaring blaze.