I Found Gratitude in the Thrashed Around Pieces of My World

I was armed at all points. It was a pleasure to be so completely equipped for the life battle with my gratitude weapons being polished steel.

Misha, a son of my stepfather, was distressfully dying all those years we knew each other. There seemed to be a happy symmetry in this unhappy depiction of his life. His unselfish belief in the idea that gratitude is a way to make the most of life was something I could set up, and bow down before, and offer a sacrifice to…

In the last two years of his life, Misha had a clear taint of death, a flavor of mortality in him - which is exactly what I needed to shake my world to the bottom and have a chance to find myself in the thrashed around pieces of it. I hung on every syllable he uttered, and received, as oracles, all he said.

Misha died at thirty. When I saw him last, he evidently found great difficulty speaking. He waited long to collect himself, and then he murmured simply: "Take this," and he handed me his gratitude journal. That book had a voice that dropped deep into my soul. The words would fail me if I tried to describe the unconditional love he shared. But I will fight the tears and try to convey his last beautiful message to you.

Gratitude is a way to far-reaching and infinite happiness.

The first few sentences in Misha's journal explain a lot about his personality, "Of parents extremely loving and extremely honest, it was next to impossible that I could paint my life other than in affectionate colors. Our family considered the most troublesome hardship an occasion to express our love and gratitude."

"I often was bruised and felt scant of breath but never ungrateful. My mother died when I was 12, and I never fully recovered after that loss. I caught a violent cold right after the saddest day of my life, which fixed itself on my lungs and stayed with me for the rest of my life."

Gratitude makes you light and incapable of stupidity.

Misha was weak and often ill. "I had good winters and poor winters. I basked in the sun and went to bed when it rained. And I never forgot to spend a few moments a day reflecting on the things in my life I was blessed with."

My mom schooled Misha at home, so he would not need to go out when the weather was cold and damp. But he never was bored. Misha was always so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humor, reserve, and caprice that the experience of knowing him for a short while had been insufficient for any person. Making his acquaintance, one lingered about him longer to build stronger friendly ties with him. This way he always had a daily meeting with someone to be thankful for, an old friend reminding of himself to be grateful for, and a promise of a future pleasant contact to be longing for.

My brother's words about the bond with other people became my creed in life, "If you train yourself to care only for truth and kindness, and believing that two intelligent and friendly people ought to look for healthy relationships together, you will feel a great desire to be social, so you can share your grateful spirit with others."

Gratitude drains the cup of health to your benefit.

Misha was determined to live longer, although the doctors professed the limit until only twenty. Imputing it to nothing but grateful feelings, which for ought I knew, prolonged his life extremely, and he was able to make it to thirty.

I love this excerpt from his journal. I reread it each time I feel gloom coming over me, "When I was in pain, I more often smiled than scowled. That was the foundation of my beauty, despite my many limitations. I had love enough but not too much, I had loss a lot but not unbearable. Had I lived my life again in every detail of desire, temptation, pain, and surrender, I would have chosen the exact life I lived to the very aspect of sickness and every element of loss."

Gratitude resides in glad and flourishing personalities.

These words still make me smile with delight. Misha had so much mature wisdom in his feeble body. "The fervency of my personality trembles from sunlight and fragrance. Gratitude creates a barrier that is guarding me against cold and cheerlessness. Like any freezing temperature, these kinds of feelings can preserve but never let life be developed. Any progress is stopped when in an atmosphere of a pessimistic refrigerator."

Misha looked at nature and his fellow-men and didn't see the dark and gloom. The cheerful colors prevailed, and those were reflections from his own grateful eyes. His personality flourished with every favorable feeling and every empathetic emotion.

Gratitude feeds you by a spring of inexhaustible positive emotions.

Misha taught me to take no notice of negative people and very little of pessimistic acquaintances. "The wealth of positive emotion awakens pleasure and adds liveliness to your life," he used to say.

His heart was overcharged with grateful feelings. Misha exposed me to the goodness of the world around. He could describe delight, peace of mind, and soft tranquility on paper, voice it to his friends, charge with it our family, and radiate it to the objects and atmosphere around.

"Every now and then I put my thin forefinger on my lips and remind myself of many blessings in my life that I am sincerely thankful for. I kiss it with a smile and imagine embracing myself tenderly. This sets every nerve in my body quivering with happy vibes."

Misha was intolerable to negative thoughts. Odious to his soul, they were smashed by every supreme moment of complete kindness and compassion. He lived as thirsty men drink - slept with spirit, eat with joy, and communicated with virtue. To crown the whole, his fortune of life blessings was enormous, and he spent it entirely in doing good to others. I am a vivid example of his never-diminishing influence. Misha is always present in my thoughts.

Thanks to my brother, I learned to wrap myself in happy memories, grateful emotions, and generous hopes. I let gratitude excel every other quality. I feel calmness and composure in difficult situations when dealing with people, philosophic equanimity facing cataclysms of nature far beyond all human power, and happy in my own quiet way when giving love and returning kindness.

Conclusion

The last page of my brother's journal contained this message: "Pain passes, but love remains. We suffer so much sometimes. I'm very old when I think about it, but I grow young again when I believe in generous mistakes that hurt, happy tears that burn, and deep adoration that squeezes the heart till every drop of love is revealed. And the only way to see the beauty in life is to open your eyes every morning with extraordinary gratefulness. Only this feeling will take you beyond the reach of pain."