SOARING into Strength: Love Transcends Pain

By Lisa Honig Buksbaum

Since she was a child, Lisa wanted to help. Whether it was rescuing a blind duck at a park or defending her younger brother against bullying when he experienced severe asthma attacks-Lisa always found herself in the role of a helper during times of crisis. As an adult, a phone call at four o'clock in the mor

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flow Motion Productions
• Release date: Aug 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985982442

Lisa Honig Buksbaum

Author, social entrepreneur, and Positive Psychology thought leader, Lisa is a passionary: a visionary driven by great passion and action. An intuitive healer, well-loved inspirational speaker, and expert workshop leader and facilitator, Lisa has shared her wisdom with thousands of people throughout the world. Her personal experiences with loss inspired her to launch Soaringwords, a not-for-profit organization which has grown into a global movement. Since 2000, Lisa has led Soaringwords' SOARING into Strength Positive Health Initiative workshops and presented at numerous international scientific conferences. She holds an MBA in marketing from Columbia University Graduate School of Business and a Master of Applied Positive Psychology from The University of Pennsylvania. She's been featured as an expert on ABC News, Fortune Small Business, USA TODAY, and CEO to Watch in The Chronicle of Philanthropy. Lisa is President-Elect of the International Positive Psychology Association's Health and Wellbeing Division. She has been a scholar-in-residence at grand rounds for leading universities, medical schools, and nursing schools. She has led award-winning employee-engagement professional development workshops at Fortune 500 companies including Accenture, Cisco, Lilly, Meta, Google, Johnson & Johnson, JPMorgan Chase, New York Life, Sony, Verizon, and Viacom. Lisa lives in New York City with her husband Jacob. Her pride and joy are her two grown sons, daughter-in-law, and adorable grandbaby. She gets her energy from swimming each day and connecting with people in fun and meaningful ways.

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Author’s Introduction

Why I Wrote This Book

Iwrote this book for you. Specifically, to remind you that strength and greatness reside at the core of your being, regardless of any circumstances that are happening in your life. It can be so easy to lose touch with that reality, especially in the midst of challenges, when you or someone you love is grappling with grief, illness, trauma, or a setback. When this occurs, the whole family is affected—including the chosen family, the constellation of friends, neighbors, and co-workers who step up when we need them.

In 1998, three experiences of death and illness happened in my family over a ten-month period. My younger brother Gary, my only sibling, died suddenly from an asthma-induced heart attack. I got the phone call at four o’clock in the morning, and I had to tell my parents the terrible news. Five weeks later, my father had a second bout of Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. And ten months after Gary died, my oldest son became catastrophically ill.

What began as a personal journey as a mom on a mission became my calling when the name Soaringwords came to me while walking on the beach one morning during the height of my son’s illness. Through that profound experience, I came to realize that my life’s purpose is to help others who are going through a crisis.

Since 2000, I have dedicated my time, effort, and passion to launching and growing Soaringwords, a global not-for-profit organization with a mission to inspire children, families, adults, seniors, and health care professionals to take active roles in self-healing to experience greater physical, emotional, and mental well-being. The SOARING into Strength Positive Health Initiative’s virtual programs and workshops are designed to teach people how to experience deeper gratitude and gentler self-compassion, as well as resilience, optimism, altruism, and joy based on the latest Positive Psychology concepts. This distinctive SOARING into Strength approach and empirical model have been published and presented at scientific conferences around the world. As of 2022, we have embraced more than 500,000 individuals and taught them how to take active roles in their healing. Soaringwords is the only organization that sets an intention for people who are suffering to pay-it-forward and help others as a distinct part of their own healing. While this might seem counterintuitive, Soaringwords’ empirical research studies show that, when a person who is going through hardship does something kind for someone else going through hardship, it accelerates transformative healing for both parties—the giver and the recipient. ¹

This book takes you through my childhood as the bossy big sister to a younger brother with severe asthma. I witnessed the brutal playground teasing and torment he endured from other children, long before anti-bullying initiatives would be introduced. Growing up, our parents tried to shelter us from life’s traumas until, of course, we couldn’t be protected.

When the trifecta of trauma—my brother’s death and my father’s and son’s illnesses—occurred, my world was turned upside down, and it changed my family forever. At times, I thought of myself as Job Buksbaum, a modern-day version of the Biblical Job who endured numerous calamities while maintaining his faith. Other times, I felt surges of appreciation while savoring memories spanning so many years with my brother Gary. Each morning, this extreme gratitude was punctuated by searing pain as I woke and remembered that he was dead.

During my father’s multiple hospitalizations, my mother, hired home health aides, and I were Dad’s emotional care team. I was also inspired and impressed by the kind and skillful hospital staff who tended to his medical challenges. Throughout my son Jonathan’s illness, my gratitude for my husband Jacob and appreciation for our babysitter Krishna knew no bounds. I was also deeply moved by my mother, who came and sat with Jonathan each day, reading to him and bringing him a new Beanie Baby for his burgeoning collection. Additionally, there were so many friends and neighbors who made dinners, ran errands, and supported our family throughout those long months. Each day, during this difficult time, I experienced the full spectrum of grief, loss, awe, gratitude, and hope. At the time, I did not know that this process is called Post-Traumatic Growth.

Throughout my Soaringwords journey, I have met incredibly resilient and compassionate children, teens, parents, adults of all ages, caregivers, and devoted health care professionals on the front lines of care. I have hugged, cried, and laughed with strangers who entered my heart. Now, I entrust these stories to you in the hope they will inspire you to soar towards your own healing journey.

I wrote this book because I want you to know that you are not alone. No matter what challenges you are facing in your life or with those closest to you, please remember that you have inner resources to help you connect to that still, small voice that resides at your core—a voice that, if you let it, can help you find the peace and strength not only to survive but to thrive.

It’s easy to lose touch with yourself and your unique strengths when the weight of illness threatens to pull you down. So, relax and spend a little time with me.

The Mishnah, the ancient commentary on the Torah, says, Words from the heart enter the heart. I hope these stories of transformation fill you with a sense of gratitude, wonder, hope, and inspiration to activate your ability to Never give up!

I’m sending you strength and love,

Lisa Honig Buksbaum

New York City

September 20, 2022

Chapter 1

I’m a Big Sister Now

My least favorite baby story occurred shortly after I was born. My father was looking at the baby bassinets in the hospital when another father casually asked him, Which one is yours?

Dad proudly pointed to me, That’s my girl, Lisa.

The other man started snickering and said, Wow, she looks just like the fat one in the Laurel and Hardy movies.

It wasn’t the fairytale princess treatment that a little girl dreams of, but perhaps it set me up for all the laughter to come—laughter I was going to sorely need.

My mother showered me with affection and love. I was her baby girl, and, as I grew older, we became a team. When I was two years and four months old, I went from being an only child to becoming an older sister. When my mother was pregnant with my brother Gary and her water broke, she called her dear friend JoAnne, affectionately known as Aunt Joey, to babysit me while Mom and Dad went to the hospital for the delivery. Joey was a seasoned mom with twins Amy and Jill and a three-month-old son Robbie. The twins and I played with plastic stacking cups and nibbled on goldfish crackers while Robbie slept in his stroller.

Gary was a beautiful baby with blonde hair, twinkly blue eyes, and a sweet disposition. Two days after he was born, Aunt Joey stopped by my parents’ apartment to pay a visit. She sat down with her friend on the couch while the twins and I played in another room. Mom was holding her new baby in her arms.

Joey was hesitant. Jan, I don’t know how to tell you this.

You know you can tell me anything, Mom said warmly. Since Lisa was born, you’ve always been so helpful in sharing different milestones and baby stages with me so I can be a better mom.

Joey paused and continued, Well, this isn’t easy to say. So, I’ll just say it. I went into the kitchen to grab some snacks for the girls, and when I came back to the den, Lisa was poking Robby’s cheeks while he was sleeping. Her face was all scrunched up and she had a menacing look in her eyes. Joey put her hand on Mom’s arm. You better watch her, Jan. Watch her like a hawk. I could never forgive myself if she harmed Gary, so I had to tell you this. Never leave the baby alone with her. Never let her out of your sight.

However, nothing could have been further from the truth because I fell in love with my brother the minute he came home. He was much more interesting than my baby dolls, so I immediately assumed the role of his second mother. He became my beloved little brother and sidekick. We were inseparable and I immediately knew I’d do anything to protect and care for Gary.

Chapter 2

My Duck is Blind

One morning when Gary and I were sitting on the front steps of our house in Fair Lawn, New Jersey, waiting for Dad to take us to the local duck pond, the air was so cold that little wispy smoke clouds floated out of our mouths as we talked.

I loved to tease my baby brother, I’m a dragon! See the smoke come out of my mouth! Groooowwwllllll!

We began laughing hard, which, of course, led to more smoke-like rings. Gary was eating it up, Li, do it again, do it again!  

Dad stepped onto the stoop, carrying two brown paper grocery bags filled with bread, croutons, and crackers—this was back before studies showed carbs aren’t necessarily a great nutritional choice for birds. The way we saw it, we were making the ducks’ lives better or at least making one meal easier. It was one of the first times I recognized something important: I liked the feeling of helping the ducks.

Kids, the ducks are going to have a feast today, Dad called to us cheerfully. Let’s go!

Outings with Dad were always a treat as we got to spend treasured time together with him. On weekdays, Dad was already at work by the time we made our way to the breakfast table each morning. Each night, we were already bathed and in our pajamas when he came home for supper. 

Dad worked at Electrolux, the vacuum cleaner company. He started out as a door-to-door salesman, earning enough money to pay for his law school tuition. He loved the work, especially the people, and they loved him right back. When he graduated from law school, he was promoted to branch manager at Electrolux with a considerable raise in salary and a convenient reason not to go into the family law practice with his domineering mother, Grandma Ruth.

As Dad drove us to the Dunkerhook County Park duck pond, Gary and I sang at the top of our lungs to the Electrolux jingle that had come on the radio:

Open your door to the Electrolux show, we’ll help you make your home shine.

You’ll be amazed at how much power you’ll have, it suctions, it filters so fine.

So, call us today and we’ll come over and you’ll say, Electrolux you’re truly divine!

Between the steamy-smoke clouds, then hearing the song for Dad’s company on the radio, somehow, I knew it was going to be a special day. 

Within minutes of stepping out of the car, we found ourselves surrounded by dozens of ducks eager to separate us from our starch. It seemed to me like they had special duck radars and the quickest ducks in the group always jump started the same chain reaction. Gary’s coordination was still developing. He hurled huge chunks of bread, sometimes entire slices, onto the ground as the ducks frenetically ingested as many bites as possible. I was more purposeful and strategic. I tore dainty little morsels and sprinkled them around my feet. Within moments, I was surrounded by a circle of feathered friends. Those ducks were smart, fast, and hungry. Once they gobbled the bread, they started nibbling at my shoes. Always aware of the underdog—or in this case, the under-duck—I tossed individual bite-size pieces to ducks outside of the inner-circle and watched in horror as the entire flock turned and tried to snatch the bread mid toss before it could go to those slower or less-motivated ducks. Some ducks got aggressive while others had speed working in their favor.

That’s how we discovered Donald. 

Donald Duck stood alone, outside the feeding frenzy circle. Naturally, I threw scraps of bread at his feet. But he never got to swallow a bite because the other ducks inhaled the bread before his beak made it halfway to the food.

Daddy, I said, look, maybe that duck already ate.

Dad and Gary each threw a piece of bread directly to him. In both cases, the other ducks snatched up the goods while Donald stood still.

Dad inched closer to the duck to size up the situation. Something’s not right kids, he announced. Follow me.

Dad was a natural leader, someone who had once convinced the head of the Seafarers International Union to give him a summer job after visiting their office over three dozen times to get his papers to work at sea, lying about his age and setting sail for Buenos Aires a day before his sixteenth birthday.

Concerned for the duck, Dad walked up to a park ranger who sported a brown uniform with a Dunkerhook patch sewn onto the sleeve and a matching ranger hat with a steel brim. The ranger nodded his head and asked Dad a few questions in man-to-man shorthand. As they walked back to the flock, Gary and I followed in their footsteps, two little ducklings scrambling to keep up. 

Both men knelt down directly in front of the duck, who did not flinch or move. The ranger waved his hand directly in front of the duck’s face. No movement.

He’s blind because of a viral infection, the ranger explained. Sort of like a cold that went to his eyes.

Eager to relish my big-sister role of explaining the world to my charge, I elbowed Gary in the ribs and whispered, I’ve never seen a blind duck before.

The ranger scooped up Donald and put him in the back of his park ranger vehicle, a glorified golf cart with the official Bergen County logo decal adorning the hood.

We jumped into our car and followed the cart to the ranger station behind the picnic tables, swing sets, and climbing logs. We knew the park by heart, but had never been to the ranger station where important park business surely happened.  

Wait here. I’ll be right back, Dad said, as he followed the ranger into the station.

We listened to the car radio, wondering what Daddy and the ranger were discussing. A minute later, they emerged, the ranger carrying a large cardboard box. He strode to the car as Dad opened the front door, placed the box in the passenger seat, and strapped it in with a seat belt. We removed our seat belts and looked over the headrest to discover that the duck was sitting inside the box, inside our car.

As Dad slid into the driver’s seat, he smiled his Charlie smile, the one that crinkled up the edges of his eyes, and said, I bet Mom is going to be surprised to meet our new pet!

Normally a trip to the duck pond ended with a visit to Baskin-Robbins, where we’d spend ten minutes tasting and agonizing over the thirty-one flavor choices with tiny magenta spoons, only to order the same flavors we always did: chocolate chip mint for me and chocolate for Gary. But that day, a trip to the ice cream store couldn’t compete with the duck adventure that was unfolding. My heart was pounding as we pulled up to the house. Daddy carried Donald’s box to the front door as Gary and I sprinted along the path behind him.

Mom opened the yellow door to our house.

Mommy, Mommy! Gary and I screamed at the same time. Guess what!

She looked into the box and then looked at Dad. I guess I picked the wrong Sunday to miss the trip to Dunkerhook, she said grinning, a quizzical expression on her face. We all stared at the duck in the box. Charlie, is this a joke? Mom asked.

He’s blind. He has a virus, Dad replied. The ranger said if we give him medicine, he’ll get his vision back.

Why isn’t the ranger giving him medicine in the park? Mom was a retired teacher who was forced to quit her job when her first baby bump started showing. In the 1960s, the United States Department of Education was concerned about young children seeing a pregnant teacher in the front of the classroom—if you can believe it—as if pregnancy itself was somehow repulsive or otherwise something to hide. Still, once a teacher, always a teacher. Mom was pragmatic and logical. 

Jan, Dad countered. He told me that the duck would be attacked by wolves if he was left in the park.

That was the end of the discussion. Mom, a natural caregiver, needed to hear no more to convince her that Donald needed to become an honorary Honig. Since childhood, Mom had assumed the role of helper in her family. She is a CODA—a Child of Deaf Adults—with both of her parents unable to hear. Growing up, I heard many stories from my mother’s unique childhood about her experiences being the ears of her family.

One of Mom’s responsibilities was that she had to always answer the rotary phone in her childhood apartment. Because of this, she had to be mature at a very young age and become involved with adult conversations and topics that were often beyond her age. When she was only ten years old, Mom received a call stating that her grandmother, her mother’s mother, had died. Mom had to be the one to take the call and relay the news to her mother. This was an immense emotional burden that she had to carry at such a young age.

Other times, being a CODA had mischievous benefits for young Janice. One example of when being the ears for her parents paid off was the time her mother, my Grandma Faye, had to go to the principal’s office after Mom got in trouble for horsing around in gym class. Mom was the go-between, interpreting what the principal and gym teacher were saying to Grandma Faye. While the gym teacher went on and on, admonishing Mom for being the class clown, young Janice audaciously edited the words in sign language to Grandma Faye, signing phrases such as Janice is so talented, Janice is such a leader, and other glowing accolades. Grandma Faye sat there nodding happily.

All throughout her life, my mom has been the person to step up if someone needed help. It is part of who she is as a person. So, when Dad said that a blind duck needed her help, Mom’s reaction was immediate. She walked to the upstairs bathroom. Gary and I darted after her to see what she was about to do. She leaned down and turned on the faucet.

From now on, this bathtub will be for the duck. You ducklings will take your baths downstairs.  

Dad stood on the landing, holding the box. The duck was about to have his first domesticated bath, complete with a rubber duck bath toy and two exuberant siblings cheering him on.

Donald became my confidante, best-buddy, and fine-feathered baby sibling. Donald was the perfect pet, someone I could shower with all my bossy energy since my human sibling and baby brother slept a lot. Besides, I had to share Gary with Mom and Dad. But Donald was my baby. It was a miracle that I did not cause multiple car collisions each day as I toddled back and forth along the sidewalk in front of my house on Plaza Road North, proudly pushing my baby duck in his baby stroller.

Each day, after Gary’s afternoon nap, the four of us embarked on an outing to walk around the block or go to the Radburn playground. Mom pushed Gary in his stroller while I took enormous pride in pushing my own stroller carrying my duck. Before Donald, that seat had been occupied by whatever doll had been my favorite at the moment. However, Pippy Longstocking, countless Barbies, and even Nibbles—the mouse with velvet magenta ears and polka dots—had been immediately consigned to the windowsill after Donald waddled into my life.

Dad constructed a little duck house for Donald in the backyard. One snowy night a few months after Donald joined our family, someone up to no good snuck into the yard, yanked Donald out of the duck house, and left him tied to a post on his long leash. The next morning, when Dad came out to feed him, he discovered Donald frozen to death.

Our parents told Gary and me that Donald, now all better, had been strong enough to fly South for the winter along with the other ducks in his flock. It wasn’t until I was a young adult looking through baby pictures in a scrapbook that my parents told me what really happened.

Still, I’ll never forget the kindness both of my parents showed this disabled duck, which modeled the parable from Aesop, No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.

Chapter 3

The Case of the Disappearing Beagle

Icould often find my brother transfixed in his own world for hours. I’d occasionally glimpse a pair of Madras shorts, navy Keds sneakers, and two scraped legs sticking out from under the bushes. Eight-year-old Gary was more comfortable with his Hot Wheels cars and Legos than interacting with other children. The humiliation of being kept on the bench during recess and gym because of childhood asthma often led to taunts and attacks while walking to and from Radburn Elementary School with me, his protective older sister, at his side scanning the landscape for bullies. Even though Gary was tall for a third grader, he was helpless to defend himself against an ambush, especially when older boys were involved. Constant vigilance was necessary to forestall a new attack. One time, a fifth grader threw Gary’s books down the stairwell during recess and my mother had to write a note explaining why the binding was torn on his library book. More frequently, they tripped or kicked him in the stairwells, halls, or sidewalks.

Decades before cell phones were invented, our mother was always anxious when she ran errands in case the school nurse called the house to say that Gary was having a serious asthma attack. Happy rites of passage such as school field trips or birthday parties were often fraught, especially when these events occurred during high allergy season in the fall with Gary’s asthma in full force.

Often, immediately following dinner, Gary and I would race outside to the front steps to inhale the delicious aroma of Oreo cookies—a fragrant gift from the Nabisco cookie factory several miles away. We talked, played catch, and read comic books—anything to forestall bedtime.

However, one clear, fall night, the smell of the cookies couldn’t override a feeling of dread as I sat on the front steps of my house. I watched Dad run to the car as he carried Gary’s limp body in his arms. My parents called over to our neighbors Alice and Paul to watch me as Mom climbed into the back seat where Dad gently placed Gary on her lap. I watched the car speed away, rushing to the local hospital where doctors and nurses would help my brother regain his breath. He often had to have adrenaline injections in his arm. One time, he had to be put into an oxygen tent after his oxygen levels were severely compromised—an experience my mom later told me was terrifying as a parent, watching her son sitting alone beneath the plastic structure. At ten years old, I was often told I was wise beyond my years. I wonder if all the times I had witnessed my baby brother’s limp body, purpling lips, and compromised breath had played a role in any wisdom I may have possessed.

Calm and focused also describe my parents as they took action each time to get Gary to safety. I learned to master my own fears and find ways to remain alert and present in the emergencies to come.

Slightly dramatic and always romantic, my father once surprised my mother with an adorable beagle puppy for her thirty-third birthday. He placed an enormous box on the front stoop, rang the bell, ran to the backyard, and quietly entered the house through the kitchen.

Gary and I raced to the front door and started screaming, Mom, there’s a big box at the front door with a giant ribbon!

She opened the card which read: To the woman I love. Here’s a cuddly sidekick to keep your feet warm. Inside the box, Mom discovered a bouncing beagle and we immediately fell in love.

Gary and I squealed, Ah! Oh my God, it’s a puppy! It’s so cute, it’s so cute!

Mom gleefully took it all in, speechless and in shock.

He reminds me of Lucky, my childhood dog, Dad said as he kissed Mom on the forehead. He looked at the puppy nostalgically. Oh, the adventures we’ll have.

Gary and I pet the squirming dog’s back, forehead, and ears, He’s so soft. I love his ears, they’re so cute!

Over dinner, the dog was named Buffy. Buffy the Beagle.

The next afternoon, Gary started wheezing while playing with Buffy on the kitchen floor. His breathing became labored until he was gasping. Mom called Dad at his office to tell him she was taking Gary to the hospital. She kissed my forehead and gently told me to walk over to the neighbor’s house immediately where Alice was planting pansies in her garden. Mom helped Gary walk to the car and sped away.

A few days later, after a series of asthma attacks, Gary required adrenaline injections.

During the third emergency room visit, the doctor asked, Mrs. Honig, are there any changes in Gary’s routine? A new rug, pillows, or blanket in his room? Is he eating different foods?

Mom paused and replied, Well, a few days ago, my husband surprised me and brought home a beagle puppy. Could that be the cause?

Well, you’ve identified the culprit, the doctor replied. "Beagles are long-haired dogs that shed. You have to get rid of that