I aspire to be like a spider named, Charlotte.

Project 365 * 4
Day 663

     Whenever I'm choosing a book to read, I always do this: I open to the last page, and read the last paragraph first. There's something very telling about the last paragraph of a book. The finishing up of whatever story is being told. The end. I can always tell if it's going to be a good one by reading that last bit. Those precious few words that sum up the entirety of a story that took hundreds of pages to tell.

     The last paragraph of Charlotte's Web goes like this:

     "Wilber never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both."

     When I was discussing Charlotte's Web today with my wide-eyed second graders, discussing big themes like life and death and friendship, I had a revelation. I realized that if I came to the end of my life, and it could be said of me that I was a true friend and a good writer, that I will have had lived well. Charlotte had a good death. For one reason. When she was alive, she truly lived and she truly loved. That's all. And that's everything.

     The concept of miracles is something I've been pondering ever since I started reading Charlotte's Web to my students. The miracle of the web, for example. Mrs. Arable says, "it's just a web." It's just an ordinary something. There's nothing special about it. Turns out, the web itself is the miracle. Not the writing in the web. Likewise, all of life is a miracle. Every tree. Every bit of blue sky. Every love story. Every minute. Of every day. It's all very miraculous when you think about it. And if all of life is a miracle, what is death? The last paragraph. The finishing up of whatever story is being told. The end. We must live in a way that makes that last paragraph worth reading.

     Thankful for Charlotte and all she taught me. Thankful for wide-eyed second graders. They think deeply. They love deeply. They live deeply. Thankful for children. Thankful for Adelyn and Tobin. The best day ever for them consists of wandering around outside and collecting leaves and sticks. They regard everything as something miraculous. And that's the best way to live. They've got it right. Thankful for words that speak to the soul. Thankful for this place to write every day. Thankful that death no longer seems like my worst enemy. A vicious someone waiting to take me before I'm ready. Maybe it was River that taught me that it was okay to die. Maybe it was Charlotte. Maybe it was both of them. Either way, I've learned that dying is not about the death itself. It's about the miracle of the life before the death. Death is just the last paragraph. Make it a good one.