Two years later, I went back to When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. (My March reads have definitely put a lockdown quarantine into perspective.)
The foreword by Abraham Verghese sent me on a "Where have I read him before search?" to my Nashville life of nine years ago and from there, a pause, and a deep breath, and I began.
I read Kalanithi's story in just a few sittings and as I sit to type, searching for words, I fail.
I do have the sense that Paul lived. He pushed. He pursued joy and was not afraid of suffering. A reader can't help but look inward and ask, am I doing the thing I am called to do, that I love? Am I living my minutes? Also readers, if you are like me, you will cry. If somehow you make it to the epilogue with dry eye, I can't imagine you could remain unaffected by the words of his wife, Lucy.
Although limited with our movements around the world, there are still avenues to push, to learn, to love with open heart, not backing down from suffering.
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