Elizabeth Kubler-Ross
The Wheel Of Life
I had moved to the farm in Head Waters, Virginia, ten years earlier. The farm embodied all my dreams and I poured all the money I earned from publishing and lectures into making it a reality. I built my house, a neighboring cabin and a farm-house. I constructed a healing center where I held workshops, allowing me to cut down on my hectic travel schedule. I was planning to adopt AIDS-infected babies, who would enjoy however many days remained of their lives in the splendor of the outdoors. The simple life on the farm was everything to me. Nothing was more relaxing after a long plane flight than to reach the winding driveway that led up to my house. The quiet of the night was more soothing than a sleeping pill. In the morning, I awoke to a symphony of talking cows, horses, chickens, pigs, donkeys . . . the whole noisy menagerie, welcoming me home. The fields rolled out as far as I could see, glistening with fresh dew. Ancient trees offered their silent wisdom. There was real work to be done. My hands got dirty. They touched the earth, the water, the sun. They worked with the material of life.
My life.
My soul was there.
Then, on October 6, 1994, my house was set on fire.
It burned down to the ground and was a total loss. All my papers were destroyed. Everything I owned turned to ash. I was hurrying through the airport in Baltimore, trying to catch a plane home, when I got the news that it was ablaze. The friend who told me begged me not to go home, not yet. But my whole life I had been told not to become a doctor, not to talk with dying patients, not to start an AIDS hospice in prison, and each time I had stubbornly done what felt right rather than what was expected. This time was no different.
Everyone goes through hardship in life. The more you go through, the more you learn and grow.
The plane flight zoomed by. Soon I was in the backseat of a friend’s car, speed- ing along the dark country roads. It was nearly midnight. From a distance of a few miles away, I spotted the first signs of smoke and flames. They stood out against a perfectly black sky. I could tell it was a big fire. Close up, the house, or what remained of it, was barely visible through the flames. I compared the scene to standing in the midst of hell. The firemen said they had never seen anything like it. The intense heat kept them at bay all night and through the morning. Sometime late that first night I sought shelter in the nearby farmhouse, which had facilities for guests. I made myself a cup of coffee and considered the tremendous personal loss inside the raging furnace that was once my home. It was devastating, staggering, beyond comprehension. The list included diaries my father had kept of my childhood, my personal papers and journals, some 20,000 case histories pertaining to my research into life after death, my collection of Native American art, photos and clothing . . . everything.
For twenty-four hours I was in shock. I did not know how to react, whether to cry, scream, shake my fists at God or just gawk at the iron-fisted intrusion of fate. Adversity only makes you stronger. People always ask me what death is like. I tell them it is glorious. It is the easiest thing they will ever do.
Life is hard. Life is a struggle. Life is like going to school. You are given many lessons. The more you learn, the harder the lessons get. This was one of those times, one of those lessons. Since there was no use denying the loss, I accepted it. What else could I do?
Anyway, it was just a bunch of stuff, and no matter how important or sentimental the meaning, nothing compared with the value of life. I was unharmed. My two grown children, Kenneth and Barbara, were alive. Some jerks might have succeeded in burning down my house and everything inside, but they were not able to destroy me. When you learn your lessons, the pain goes away.
This life of mine, which began halfway around the world, has been many things—but never easy. That is a fact, not a complaint. I have learned there is no joy without hardship. There is no pleasure without pain. Would we know the comfort of peace without the distress of war? If not for death, would we appreciate life? If not for hate, would we know the ultimate goal is love? As I am fond of saying: “Should you shield the canyons from the windstorms, you would never see the beauty of their carvings.” I admit that October night three years ago was one of those times when the beauty was hard to find. But during the course of my life, I had stood at similar crossroads, searching the horizon for something nearly impossible to see. At those moments you can either hold on to negativity and look for blame, or you can choose to heal and keep on loving.
Since I believe our only purpose for existing is to grow, I had no problem making a choice. So a few days after the fire, I drove in to town, bought a change of clothes and got set for whatever was going to happen next.
In a way, that is the story of my life.
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What an INCREDIBLE perspective!!! "I believe our only purpose for existing is to grow". So when something happens, whatever it may be, for better or for worse, we use it as an opportunity to grow.
As she writes elsewhere in the book:
For me, being a triplet was a nightmare. I would not wish it on my worst enemy. I had no identity apart from my sisters. We looked alike. We received the same presents. Teachers gave us the same grades. On walks in the park, passersby asked which one was which. Sometimes my mother admitted even she did not know.
It was a heavy psychological weight to carry around. Not only was I born a two- pound nothing and given a slim chance at survival; my whole childhood was spent attempting to figure out who I was. I always felt that I had to work ten times harder than everyone else and do ten times more to prove myself worthy . . . of something . . . worthy of living. It was a daily torture.
Only as an adult did I realize it had been a blessing instead. Those circumstances are what I had chosen for myself before entering the world. They may not have been pleasant. They may not have been what I wanted.
But they were what gave me the grit, determination and stamina for all the work that lay ahead.
Whatever difficulties you are having in life are a gift. But you have to appreciate the gift for what it is and maximize it.
