Things change. People leave. Life does not stop or stand still for anyone.

Several years ago, I had open heart surgery, and in many ways, it changed my life. I like to think of it as having had a broken heart that could be fixed, at least for a while. I had to manage my life differently after that, eat different things, do different things, feel different things.

I had to re-acquaint myself with my heart and body in a completely new way, take new kinds of medicines monitor myself in a way I had never had to do before. The experience of having one’s heart stopped, and then taken out and rebuilt, is transformative, even though there are a lot worse things one could be in the hospital for. It was a great shock to me, an even greater one for my body.

There was a person, a woman, who was central to my life before and after that surgery. I can’t reveal her name or position, but we became friends. She was – is – deeply religious, but one of those religious people whose faith drives them to do good, not evil.

She guided me through this experience, gave me life-altering advice, earned my complete trust. Unlike many people involved in the bewildering and often merciless world of health care, especially many of the  men, she took the trouble to know me, understand me, encourage me, listen to me and give me the strength and guidance to recover.

She was central to my recovery and to my health and well-being in more ways than I can describe.

She was the fixed point in the upended universe, the one place I could always go for truth and comfort.

She was the rock, the anchor, on which I depended to get through the maze of often painful and sometimes frightening decisions, advice, scores of ancillary medical issues. Because of her, I was able to move along, be healthy, feel healthy, I can’t say enough about her, and it would not be a stretch to say I owe much of my life to her, if not all of it.

Today I met her and I noticed the almost stricken look on her face. I was worried. We know each other too well.

She took me aside and told me that she would probably be moving on sometime in the near future, her life was changing in many good and exciting ways, and that meant moving away. She was profoundly happy about this change, and she wanted me to know, she knew I could handle it. I could see this was a difficult thing for her to tell me, she was obsessively conscientious and caring, she had a look of worry and guilt on her face.

She told me she had been reading my blog, and she admired the work I was doing, she said I was one of those people who had decided to give to other people rather than just myself. She said we were along  in that and other ways. That meant a lot to me.

In the moments I had to react I had a very powerful epiphany and insight into myself and into life. This was about change, and the ways in which we either do accept it or don’t.

This was another change moment, another opportunity to see that change is not an aberration or isolated and shocking thing, it is life itself. We and everything we love in the world will die, as we will, and suffer, as we will, and experience joy, as we will.

I could see it two ways – the world is going to Hell and here is another change to absorb, and there is nothing stable and secure any longer and everything is changing.
Or I could see it in another way: this is the nature of life, it has always been the nature of life. Every generation reels from change and sees change as unexpected and often terrifying, something to lament.

If you read almost any novel in any generation at any time in history, you will find a hero or writer struggling to accept change, and feeling betrayed and overwhelmed by it. Every day, it seems, something I knew and relied on is gone, moved or suddenly obsolete. This is not the exception, it is the rule, and I can either complain and whine about it, or embrace it, along with the gift of life itself.

Today, I found that I was internalizing change and embracing and accepting it. I was  uncharacteristically proud of myself. I had changed. I realized today that I was not afraid of change any more.

I could not do this to this woman, I thought, show the slightest remorse or sense of betrayal or abandonment. Life stops for nobody.

She had give me everything she could have given me, and much more than I expected. I barely skipped a beat and said, “I am so happy for you, I admire and respect you so much for what you have done with your life and what you are doing.

I  hope you don’t feel badly about leaving me, you have been nothing but wonderful to me, and I am grateful for you, and because of you, I can take good care of myself and make good decisions. And you will go on to help others. Congratulations to you.”

She said she was concerned about the change and how it might affect me and others, and I said ” listen, you will find others to help and do your good work. I am so impressed by your courage and willingness to change, so how could I possibly be upset with you for changing.” And the thing was, I wasn’t just saying it, I believed it.

I could see an enormous look of relief cross her face, I could see her take a deep breath of relief. I was aware that I would not always have felt that way, and like everyone else, was often embittered by change, sometimes it seems like everything I loved and valued in the world is no longer certain. But more and more, I have come to see that change and our response to change is what defines us and shapes our view of life.

Dealing with change and accepting it, from the death of a parent or the death of a dog, or a friend who leaves,  is essential to health, happiness and any kind of spiritual life.

Life does not stop for anyone, and I can either embrace that or live my life in fear and lament.

I went to the Mansion Monday afternoon with Red, we sat out on the back porch with some of the residents. Art was there, and he thanked me for helping him to get in touch with people of faith and also for getting him CD recordings of the Bible and a CD player.

He was watching Red – he liked Red but does not want to touch him – and he told me he had a story to tell me. I could tell it was important to him, it was the story of how took in a little red fox he found alone in a nest when he lived in upstate New York before moving to Montana.

He kept the fox inside of his house in his room for several years, the fox trusted him, he fed him dog food, and he reluctantly admitted that he loved him. One day, the fox escaped and left him, and went to live in the wild. The story had a twist, and something of a surprise ending.

I left the Mansion and went home, and as I pulled into the driveway, I thought, I want to get that story on video and record it on video, so I turned around and went right back to the Mansion, the gathering on the old back porch had broken up and I caught up with Art as he was returning to his room.

Art and I are far apart in our religious beliefs but connected in a spiritual way. He loves to get mail. He likes to send the people who write him religious literature, and he considers this his ministry. If you don’t wish to receive any messages from him, you can leave your address off of the letters, as some people have done.

The story of his friend the little red fox touched me, it was one of those stories that reveals a great deal about the story-teller, sometimes more than he realizes.

Otherwise, he has books and pamphlets he likes to mail back.

You can write him at The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

Mother Teresa once said that not all of us can do great things, but we can do small things with great love. I think many of you, who we now refer to as the Army Of Good, live this thought and carry it in your spirits and souls. This is so apt for me, because it is how I feel about the work we are doing.

I cannot do great things, that is beyond me, but I can do small things with great love and feeling.

I went to the Mansion this afternoon and found that most of the residents were sitting quietly out on the cool back porch, there was a lot of shade and a beautiful breeze. They were all eating the most delicious chocolate chip cookies, I asked who made them and was told “why, a member of your Army of Good comes by often and brings us cookies. Other people who read your blog send us cookies and cakes all of the time.”

Some of them we have to put in the freezer, the staff said, we get a steady stream.

Was this Lo Ann Sanders, I asked? Why yes, said Julie Smith, the Activities Director at the Mansion, she comes by often. I met Lo Ann Sanders once she came to one of our Open Houses, I do not know where she lives or how far she comes, I hope it isn’t too far. And many other people send things often, things that require great thought and care.

One of the residents was reading a book a historical romance. She said someone from the blog sent it to her. I looked up at the windows and saw these beautiful triangular pennants hanging from the windows into the sunlight, everyone loved them, they brightened up the rooms.

Julie told me that on July Fourth, they got so many decorations they put some of them away to save for later, and they bring them out from time to time in a steady stream, they give the Mansion a warn and celebratory feeling. It is hard sometimes to keep up with the Army Of Good, they are often way ahead of me.

One day I came in and everybody was wearing hand-made hats with colorful stripes and sayings. Another day there were laminated animal photos, ingenious gifts I never would have thought of. I explain to the residents that they have been adopted, even at their age, their are  loving and caring people out there who think about them. Many tell me it is a miracle for them.

I realize that there are so many gifts and beautiful things streaming into the Mansion that I don’t even know about many of them, let alone thank anybody for them. The Army of Good is an independent institution, people know what to do and how to do it. I do thank you, you are an army of angels sailing over time and space to touch the hearts and souls of the vulnerable.

Thanks for these small things, they are not great things, but they are given and felt with great love.

When we first came together, Maria often said I was the dog trainer, she was no good at it. This was one of a long list of things Maria said she wasn’t good at that turned out to not quite be true. Our first dog together, Frieda, was almost completely untrained. I trained her, in part because I like it, in part because she wanted to eat me,  and also because I knew Maria would come and be with me without Frieda, she would never abandon her.

Maria was stunned at the progress Frieda and I made together, she was paying close attention, and when Frieda came to trust me, so did Maria. Neither of them liked men very much. Maria still doesn’t.

When Fate came, Maria paid close attention to the training, and training Fate was rough. She is an intense, instinctive creature with a very strong will. When Gus arrived, Maria had a whole different persona. She wanted to be involved in the training, and she was, as I suspected, very good at it.

Maria is patient, positive, and focused and analytic.  She sets reasonable goals and sticks to them.

She communicates clarity and enthusiasm, and wins when she needs to win, and backs down when she needs to back down or drop it. She is very in tune with Gus and knows when his attention is waning, or when he is being asked to do too much. She built a strong foundation for training Gus by feeding him, giving him occasional treats, speaking to him in a sharp and high voice.

A few of the self-righteous busy bodies who love social media have squawked at me because we are putting too much pressure on Gus, asking too much of him, bringing him into the pasture too quickly, endangering him by letting him come near farm animals.

I don’t think so. Dogs are adaptable and savvy, that is why they do so much better with humans than almost any other species. Gus is a testament to the notion that we need to treat all dogs as dogs, and not as weak-minded children. Maria has put aside the attachment issues that blocked her from dog training, she has a very natural gift for it, and we are both having fun training Gus.

But this time, the roles are somewhat reversed. Maria is doing the bulk of it, and this time, it is often me watching with respect and admiration.  This does not threaten or bother me, it is the greatest joy to see Maria come into herself, the person she was meant to be.  There is not much yet that I have seen that she cannot do. Come and see.

A few years ago, the boundaries between my work and Maria’s were quite clear, she was an artist, I wrote and took pictures. These days, they are not so clear, and we have both benefited from that. Maria’s Iphone opened up a whole new range of visual artistry for her, and she is quite good at it.

The Monday morning videos she posts have been very popular, and shape the start of our work weeks. Maria wakes up eager to get out there, thinking of her video. When she has finished the video and the shores, she sits and reviews it carefully before posting.

It is my job to capture the important moments in our lives, and Maria studying her video before posting it is one of them. I am in awe of her many talents. (But I still have the bigger camera, at least for now.)