Novelist Isabel Allende endured the most wrenching experience a human can suffer: the death of child. She describes here what she learned.
I have lived my life with passion and in a hurry, trying to accomplish too many things. I never had time to think about my beliefs until my 28-year-old daughter Paula fell ill. She was in a coma for a year and I took care of her at home, until she died in my arms in December of 1992.
During that year of agony and the following year of grieving, everything stopped for me. There was nothing to do—just cry and remember. However, in that experience I discovered there is consistency in my beliefs, my writing and the way I lead my life. I have not changed; I am still the same girl I was 50 years ago, and the same young woman I was in the 1970s. I still lust for life. I am still ferociously independent. I still crave justice. And I fall madly in love easily.
Paralyzed and silent in her bed, my daughter Paula taught me a lesson that is now my mantra: You only have what you give. It’s by spending yourself that you become rich.
Paula led a life of service. She worked as a volunteer helping women and children, eight hours a day, six days a week. She never had any money, but she needed very little. When she died she had nothing and she needed nothing.
During her illness I had to let go of everything: her laughter, her voice, her grace, her beauty, her company and finally her spirit. When she died I thought I had lost everything. But then I realized I still had the love I had given her. I don’t even know if she was able to receive that love. She could not respond in any way; her eyes were somber pools that reflected no light. But I was full of love and that love keeps growing and multiplying and giving fruit.
The pain of losing my child meant I had to throw overboard all excess baggage and keep only what is essential. Because of Paula, I don’t cling to anything anymore. Now I like to give much more than to receive. I am happier when I love than when I am loved. I adore my husband, my son, my grandchildren, my mother, my dog, and frankly I don’t know if they even like me. But who cares? Loving them is my joy.
Give, give, give—what is the point of having experience, knowledge or talent if I don’t give it away? Of having stories if I don’t tell them to others? Of having wealth if I don’t share it? I don’t intend to be cremated with any of it! It is in giving that I connect with others, with the world and with the divine.
It is in giving that I feel the spirit of my daughter inside me, like a soft presence.
Chilean novelist Isabel Allende has written more than a dozen novels, including The House of the Spirits and, most recently, Zorro. She has written about her daughter in the memoir Paula.
This essay was written for This I Believe, a media project that invites people to write about and discuss the core beliefs that guide their daily lives. They will share these statements on U.S. National Public Radio shows, like Isabel Allende has done with her essay, which is copyrighted material. No reproduction or excerpting is permitted without written consent of This I Believe, Inc. To read and hear other essays, and to submit your own, visit www.npr.org/thisibelieve
