When I was a girl, my friend Steph’s mother, Edie, an admired artist and calligrapher, drilled this into us: “If you have something nice to say to someone, say it now. Don’t wait, because one never knows what tomorrow may bring, and it may be too late.” She referred to this as “flowers for the living.” The thought of bouquets falling from my lips was magical, but the words too late felt overly dramatic — bordering on scary — and inflamed my already searing fear of death.

Now, years later and with more wisdom, I understand what she was saying to us: Avoid the regret of unspoken sentiments. Don’t wait until someone dies to express your esteem. Dish it out in real time.

Edie’s words echo in my ears, impelling me to start my own personal admiration campaign. I will make every effort to voice my veneration and spread love to the living, one well-tended bloom at a time. 

I start with Helen and James Ella, the two most venerated women in my life. I invite them for lunch on a chilly spring day thinking, Now is the time. We cluster together on high stools, a Berkeley-style deli feast set out before us. There’s steaming stuffed cabbage, turkey sandwiches with coleslaw, dill pickles, chicken soup with matzo balls. James Ella cuts her balls into bite-size pieces, wading her spoon through warm broth. “Your mother used to make this. It’s my favourite.” 

Helen, age 95, and James Ella, age 97, both live independently in their homes. Since my mother’s death in 2011, they have role-modelled aging for me, each in their own way, but I have benefited from their fierce intelligence and wise beauty since I was a girl. Helen taught me to turn my worry into prayer when I was a young mother. James Ella took me in when my first marriage combusted. 

“I’ve been thinking about admiration lately,” I say, wiping my hands on a napkin. “How we wait until people die to say nice things about them.” 

“That’s right,” James Ella testifies, as if we are in church. Her brown eyes brighten, tassels of white hair peeking out from a headscarf. Helen nods, her stylish straw hat bobbing up and down.

Not surprisingly, death is a common topic of conversation when we are together. I have asked them both about their preferences for how they’ll be celebrated when they’re gone. “Is there anything special you want at your memorial?” I inquire. Helen wants someone to sing “Deep River,” a song that left an impression on her when she was younger. James Ella, who is planning to live to be at least 100, has not yet made requests. After a lengthy decision-making process, they each elected to donate their bodies to science. James Ella, recently recruited to participate in a longevity study for people over 90, has won first prize in the nonagenarian popularity contest — two top-notch research institutions are vying to lay claim to her brain after she dies.  

“I thought today I would tell you both what I admire about you,” I say. Their backs straighten as I pour black tea into porcelain cups and add milk. I address Helen first. “I respect your sense of justice. You stand up for what you believe. You always have,” I tell her. From the time she hired me to babysit her children when I was 16, Helen marched for peace, hosted house parties for causes she believed in, and advocated for human rights. She still wears a silver peace sign around her neck. I don’t think she has ever taken it off. 

“Thank you, Megan,” she says, lifting the flowered teacup to her lips. I have a moment of concern that I have put her on the spot, as if voicing my appreciation has broken an unspoken code. I tell myself to trust that my words will glide through her, warming her bloodstream like the tea she is sipping. 

I turn my attention to James Ella, whom I’ve known since I was 5. She has been a distinguished activist within her faith community, and for me, her resolute belief in something larger than herself has eclipsed her other commendable attributes. “Of course, what I admire most about you is your unwavering faith,” I say. She beams, recalling that I was the only child in my nonreligious family who engaged in spiritual conversation with her.

After our lunch, I return home feeling a sense of accomplishment. I may be rusty but I’m off to a good start, paving the way for future words of praise.

The next morning, I awake to an email from Helen. Yes, these nonagenarians both text and email! 

Dear Megan,

I have thought a lot about the word which you used to describe me — “justice” — and I think it is right on. It takes a lot of courage to demand justice because lots of folks don’t like it. So, I guess I have a lot of courage too (or else I am nuts!) to keep on demanding justice.

Love,

Helen xoxo

So far, my campaign is a win-win for both the “admirer” and the “admiree.” It propels me to double down on my sense of appreciation and verbalise my esteem for people. And in return, my loved ones feel recognised.    

At this point you may be thinking, I already do this. I compliment my friends all the time. What’s the difference between giving a compliment and expressing admiration? I, too, rarely miss an opportunity to pay a compliment. “I love your hair … glasses … dress … shoes.” But admiration reaches deeper. Referred to as a social emotion, it creates living and breathing connections. It outplays gratitude, joy, happiness and awe — all equally rewarding practices — in the way it interlaces us with other humans. 

Now that I have fulfilled the promise to deliver this positive message to James Ella and Helen, there is no stopping me. Every time I am with a friend, I try to set aside a moment for “other praising.” I open each conversation with: “I want to tell you something I admire about you. While we are together.” Some examples: 

1. “You have cultivated a lovely state of grace as you’ve grown older. You let things go instead of holding onto grudges. You set a good example for me.”

2. “You are so grounded. You have shown me the meaning of strength since your husband’s death. It has bolstered and inspired me.”

3. “You make the most of every moment. I have learned so much from you about valuing the small ways we can add beauty and meaning to our lives.”

4. “You always make time to listen to your children when they need to talk and stay focused on nonjudgmental, open-minded feedback. I strive to do the same.” 

The responses? “Thank you.” “Keep it coming.” A heartfelt hug. Friends begin to turn the tables. One tells me how my courage rubs off on her, helping her continue to pursue her dreams. Another tells me how she admires my “magic” ability to gather people together. But more than anything, they are all struck with the idea of paying it forward. They want to replicate this practice with friends. 

At this point I pause to wonder, how do we fill the pockets of those who aren’t comfortable receiving compliments? Perhaps all that is needed is a gentle nod or a matter-of-fact statement: “I don’t know what I would do without you.” There is always a way. 

Since I started passing out verbal flowers with intention, I’ve already noticed a shift in my perspective. This practice helps me conjugate affirmative thoughts for myself and others. It keeps me off the bumpy road of judgment. It gives me a template for authentic, uplifting interaction. And, in turn, the light I shine on others is reflected back to me. 

What if we all decide to funnel this forward? What if we choose to sweeten the tune of personal connection one note of admiration at a time? Who would like to join my campaign? Participation is easy: One, dish out an ample dollop of admiration to someone in your life, and, two, let me know how it goes. This is an opportunity to create a cascade of affection, to spread unabashed love. Why wait to mark birthdays or anniversaries (let alone funerals)? Let’s start spreading admiration now. It’s free, easy and engaging. I look forward to hearing your story. 

Megan Vered, a native of Berkeley, California, has been writing for most of her 70 years. Her essays and interviews have appeared in HuffPost, Shondaland, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Los Angeles Review of Books, and the Writer’s Chronicle. She holds an MFA in creative writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts. Megan serves on the board of Heyday Books and leads local and international writing workshops. If you tell her a joke she will always laugh. Please visit her at meganvered.com.

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