What Could Happen Next? Are You Ready?

Dave, being a good sport at our niece decorates him at my birthday lunch.

"Hope for the best and prepare for the worst." The phrase dates back to the eighteenth century, according to one online source. It could easily be a New England expression, from the folks who brought you the following interaction: "Lived here all your life?" "Not yet!"

Another version of the saying comes from author Maya Angelou: "Hoping for the best, prepared for the worst, and unsurprised by anything in between." 

My mother Joan would have turned that around completely: Although life came with challenges (you try raising five kids, on a budget, and cutting your own hair), she prepared for good things to happen. That is, she prepared those good things ... trips in the old VW bus that rambled back roads and arrived at a store that sold thousands upon thousands of buttons, for instance; a cooler full of sandwich fixings and apples; exploring a Revolutionary War battlefield on the day of the week when the historic house was closed, so the only people running around the green fields and clambering onto the massive cannons were, you guessed it, her five kids.

Vermont winters can lure a person into constant preparation for the worst, of course. Your vehicle should include jumper cables, flashlight with good batteries, jack and its handle, wrenches, screwdriver, shovel, and optionally (for getting out of snowbanks or off ice) a bag of sand or unused kitty litter, a scrap of old carpeting, even a purpose-made length of metal grating to tuck under a tire. Keep adding to that, and you can lose a full seating location. Or if the gear is on the floor, everyone will learn to watch their feet.

Another situation that bends the arc of preparation toward risk and danger is a family member with a long-term illness. I used to have a basic first-aid kit in the glovebox and would note those friends who needed to add an "epi-pen" (for severe allergies) or asthma inhaler to their preparations. Traveling with kids means any prep involving bottles of beverages or packets of food will need endless replacement, though.

What I'm thinking of today, inside at the desk, a foot of fresh snow outdoors, a small patch of blue sky poking through to signal noon, is that almost none of the "prepare for the worst" strategies I implemented for life with a terminally ill husband turned out important. Some weren't even useful. Dave couldn't face writing a will, so I wrote my own as an example that he resolutely ignored, and then it turned out that by "letting him do things his own way," I ended up financially crippled. Unpredictable, really. Nor did my efforts to stay on top of CPR pay off; I was almost sure he'd die of his enormous, caring, and blood-starved heart quietly failing in his sleep. I was wrong on that one. The long list of emergency phone numbers also went unused, because his final days involved only one number, that for the hospice nursing coordinator, who calmly sent trained personnel as needed.

On the other hand, preparing for the best really paid off. We visited San Francisco three years in a row, buying books that thrilled us. I bought and planted trees with all my birthday money, and even though I had to sell the house after Dave's death, those trees are thriving and I rejoice when I drive past the "old place." Dave invested in creative designs (his own!) of birthday and Valentine's Day cards for me, and each one of them delights me. I keep them in a handy place, for joy.

"Know trouble will come, but prepare for happiness." I think that's closer to what I'm finding useful now. "Widow world," as I call it, has a share of loss and endlessly missing someone -- but it also confirms such delights, each time I find Dave's handwriting on a sticky-tag in some research, or consult his address book to connect with old friends.

Hold onto the love. Make room for smiles and full tummies and the colors of the sky, the trees, the birds ... and the bright cards in the drawer.