Gratitude for the magical miracle we take for granted
On October 8, 2005, the front page of the Globe and Mail was horrifying. A major earthquake had hit Pakistan in an area so remote that more than 20,000 people were expected to be dead and there was not even a plan to recover their bodies. They would stay where they lay, buried in rubble, gone forever, with no hope of rescue or even respectful internment; it was as though they had never existed.
After coffee, I put on my running clothes and headed out the door to Sunnybrook Hospital, 3.5 miles away. I was reporting for my very first day of radiation treatment for breast cancer.
It was a lovely crisp fall morning and my run felt effortless. When I came in sight of the sprawling Sunnybrook complex, I felt an unexpected rush of euphoria. I did it! I ran to my first radiation appointment. I felt grateful.
Just as I passed Eglinton and approached the entrance to the Sunnybrook complex, a police car raced down Bayview and came to an abrupt stop at the Sunnybrook driveway. An officer jumped out and stopped all traffic, northbound and southbound. Rush hour ground to a halt as the officer, arms extended with palms facing outward in both directions, ordered all movement on the street to stop.
Respectful Toronto drivers slammed on their brakes; cars were backed up for blocks in every direction. A sudden and eerie silence descended upon the street. From several blocks away I could hear the siren of an ambulance wailing as it raced toward the hospital.
I stood frozen on the sidewalk, transfixed by the drama playing out before me. The ambulance roared south through the empty northbound lane of Bayview. Lights flashing, siren screaming, it slowed only slightly to make a sharp left turn into the Sunnybrook driveway. Inside that ambulance, a human being was hovering between life and death, and every resource our society had to offer – police, ambulance, health care – was utterly focused and dedicated to saving that person’s life. That one, single person – a stranger to everyone involved.
Hundreds of drivers, busy people on the way to work, had screeched to a halt and waited, in unison, at the simple lift of a police officer’s hand. It was like watching a ballet, or a symphony of a kind. For a brief moment, it seemed, a “veil” was lifted from between the reality we take for granted everyday, and the true magical, miracle that is life in Canada. I could actually see the miracle with my eyes, which had filled with tears.
My heart, which had been filled with gratitude only moments before just because I’d finished my first run to Sunnybrook, was almost bursting at the sight of a city stopping to save the life of a stranger – and a society which had the means and took the responsibility to do so.
Upon returning home later that morning, I mentioned this irony to my son Tom, who was studying economics.
“In Pakistan 20,000 people died and there is not even going to be a rescue attempt. In Toronto, one person dying brought a whole corner of the city to a halt,” I described. “It’s like we don’t even live on the same planet.”
“Well, of course, Ma,” Tom pointed out logically. “That’s the difference between living in a developed or an undeveloped nation.”
“Why don’t you stop right now and ask yourself: ‘What in the hell am I worrying about?’” Dale Carnegie wrote in Stop Worrying and Start Living. “You will probably find that it is comparatively unimportant and insignificant.
“The words ‘Think and Thank!’ are inscribed in many of the Cromwellian churches of England. These words ought to be inscribed on our hearts, too: ‘Think and Thank.’ Think of all we have to be grateful for, and thank God for all our boons and bounties…if we want to stop worrying and start living, Rule #4 is: Count your blessings – not your troubles!”
Oh, Canada.
