When I pressed play on the dusty old cassette labeled “Catherine’s Senior Assembly Speech – March 14, 1983,” I didn’t expect to hear my father’s voice. The moment it came through the speaker—steady, familiar, bold - time collapsed.
I had forgotten about this talk until last spring, when my 97-year-old mother moved from her independent home to a group home. My siblings and I unearthed every remnant of our childhood as we packed her life into one bedroom. From my father’s old filing cabinet, I received several files labeled “Catherine” and I found the cassette.
As I listened to this tape in an old recorder, my father’s voice filled the room: “Sitting here about to hear Catherine’s senior assembly speech.” His voice hit a cord deep within my soul, his presence so alive and near. He’s been gone nineteen years, yet in that moment, he stood beside me.
I was 18 years old, standing behind a wooden podium, before the entire upper school in the chapel. I began -
“Life is no guarantee. Taking things for granted ended, and life became real for me when I was suddenly gravely ill and given a 20 percent chance to live for two years. I was ten.”
A flash of memory returned: my hands gripping the wooden podium, as I stared into the crowd, 400 people looking back at me.
“We are all blessed to be alive,” I said. “To wake up in the morning and feel good and get out of bed on our own two legs—how lucky we are. It is so easy to be preoccupied with day to day demands and not feel the beauty of being alive. One of us might not be here tomorrow. We are blinded by materialism. Taking life for granted is a failure and we need to have an awareness of the beauty of life, our family, and friends, to live a meaningful life. Every day, I thank God for being alive.”
Even then, I felt grounded in what I was saying. I wanted to share the truth that had already shaped me, though I hadn’t yet begun to understand its depth. Until that morning, only a few close friends knew about my illness.
When I finished speaking, the room rose in a standing ovation. My eyes met my father’s where he sat in the third row. Our relationship had always been complicated - he was tough on me growing up - but he had also saved my life. I later learned that he had met with my doctors twice, insisting they try an experimental treatment from Turkey. They finally agreed. That treatment, now standard care, has an 80% survival rate.
To this day, I carry in my soul the same sense of awe I felt then—the deep thankfulness for the gift of being alive. Each morning, my first words are, “Thank you, God.” May I hear, sense, and see You. May I understand who You are calling me to be, and why I am here.
I marvel that this message came through me as a teenager and continues to guide me now. I still read about life, meaning, purpose, and consciousness—always seeking, always learning. And yet, forty years later, the heart of it remains the same: to live fully, right here, right now, awake to the preciousness of life.
Life is mysterious, revealing patterns that circle around us and through us, offering their wisdom when it is needed.
I invite you today to take a few deep breaths and feel the air moving in and out of your body. You are here. Right here. Right now.
How do you want to live this day?
Life is the most extraordinary gift of all.
