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dying into LIFE
finish hers, she offered it to me. I told her that more ice cream
would probably upset my stomach. She held her cup out to me,
saying, “Then eat it carefully. I’m giving it to you carefully. So
you eat it carefully.”
As I took the cup, I was moved almost beyond words by her
offer, which was indeed full of caring. She seemed to be passing
to me, not just ice cream, but her life, asking me to enjoy for her
the portion that she would not be able to enjoy herself.
“Alison,” I said, “you are a good friend.”
“Yes, but no,” she said. “You don’t understand. I really like
you. No, not like. I mean, I don’t want to be …”
She started gesturing broadly with her hands, and I suggested,
“You don’t want to be all lovey-dovey”
“Right,” she said. “But I love you. I really do.”
“I love you, too,” I said, “I do.”
And for many moments there was only silence between us.
There was a communication then that was not really between
“Lauren,” with one personal history, and “Alison,” with another.
We barely knew each other on that level. It was a connection of
our very being. It was a moment of such joy and sadness. It was
the most beautiful gift. A “Christmas” gift indeed.
When I was ready to leave, she patted her bald scalp and said,
“Next time we have class, I’ll wear my hat.”
I smiled. “You mean next time I visit”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“You look lovely just like this,” I said. I kissed her forehead,
said good-bye, and left. That was our last conversation. Within a
week, she passed away.
To the Other Shore
I knew Alison well for only six months. I knew very little
about her family or her relationship history, or what kind of
music she liked. But through her dying, I caught a glimpse of
our fundamental interbeing. Along with others in the Sangha, I
felt that I was able to step, now and then, in the footprints of the
bodhisattvas, responding with compassion to Alison’s condition,
which was, ultimately, the human condition. I sensed, moments
at a time, how precious life is. I saw how Sangha can be a boat
that carries us safely to the other shore — it carried Alison, and
it carries me still.
Alison K. passed from this
life on March 27, 2007, at the
age of forty-two.
Lauren Thompson, Compassionate
Eyes of the Heart, practices
with the Rock Blossom Sangha in
Brooklyn, NY. She is a children’s
book author, presently working
on an adult memoir of her
experiences with Alison K.
Breathe the Light
photo by Tasha Chuang
30 Winter/Spring 2009