Gratitude

I was drawn to Gratitude the minute I came across the book at an airport bookstore in New Zealand.

That's a small collection of essays published shortly before the death of Dr. Oliver Sacks. The first time I read his writing was long ago (when my senior neurologist bought me The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat). Nearly twenty years passed, and finally Dr Sacks told his readers the melanoma in his right eye had metastasized and occupied a third of his liver. Then his brain. And everywhere.

The topic of incurable cancer is always complicated. Oliver Sacks dealt with his death in a simple and neat way. The first essay "Mercury" was written days before his eightieth birthday. Mercury was referred to its atomic number in the periodic table - eighty - the exact number of his age by then. Next year, he received a birthday gift of thallium, element 81. Followed by lead (yes, number 82) another year later. I also knew, though, that bismuth's atomic number is 83, that he wished to get bismuth and couldn't.

All he could do was feel grateful for his own path, live his own life, and die his own death. And he did.