The Box

The box arrived in the usual fashion.  The delivery truck barreled down the street, the driver rushed out, rang the door bell, and dropped the box on the stoop with an unceremonious plop, then rushed off to repeat the process all over town at other doorsteps.  Some of those packages held birthday presents, books from Amazon, new clothes or replacement cell phones for those accidentally flushed.  Some were surprises, and others were expected, and a few, like the cell phones, were eagerly stalked and tracked every step of the way.

My box held none of these things.  It was expected, but not with great enthusiasm.  In fact when it arrived, it sat and starred at me from the couch for a couple of days before I could open it.  I started too, but I just wasn't ready.  It was sent with love and contained precious treasure, but no shipping insurance could recover the cost if the items were lost.  It was a plain brown, well worn box.  It bore the familiar hand writing on the address panel.  I have always envied that hand writing.  Mine always looks like that of a 2nd grader in comparison.  Neat, even, loopy in all the right places - that's my Mom - she's just like her hand writing - neat, even, and loopy in all the right ways.

Mom was the sender of the box, but the items were not directly from her.  They were a gift from the past, physical manifestations of memories, tangible reminders of love, a connection to the generation before her that lived, and loved, and is now gone.  But not gone, just moved on, or over, off the visible screen, but still here.  The items in the box are a physical link to the reality of my grandparents lives.  They lived.  They had a home, and children, and grandchildren, and all of us are still here, even when they are not.  The things they left behind help remind us that our memories are true.  They lived in that small house on Picotte Street and filled it with love, elephants, music boxes and old cars.  They filled their lives with children  grandchildren, and great grandchildren, and now each holds that love in their heart, and a music box, or a cookie jar, or an elephant or some jewelry in their hand..

The things in my box help me to remember, help me to remain connected to where I came from.  So long ago we all sat in front of the photographer - Grandma and all the girls - her 4 granddaughters.  It was such a fun day.  Grandma telling us to stand up straight and make sure our ears didn't stick out.  We waited so long for our turn, all the while laughing and joking.  That image hung on their wall, our 2 dimensional faces beaming those happy smiles at her every day, while our  3 dimensional smiles were far away.  It was us who left first.  We went away to school, got married, had babies.  She held the memory of us all together close for nearly 3 decades, there on the wall.  Now it hangs on my wall, and I see those beaming smiles, and those straight shoulders and feel that love.  We are together again in those moments.   We have never parted.  We are connected.

Undone

A few days ago a lady I know from church passed away.  She died suddenly from an illness she caught while traveling out of the country with her husband.  There was time to say good bye, but not time to fly her home to competent medical assistance.  She was about my age, and has several kids in the same age range as mine. She was an awesome person, and a strength to her family, church, and community. She always pulled more than her fair share of the weight, no matter the situation.  She lived her life well.

I wonder if she had known that last week was her last on this earth,  would she have done anything differently.  Were there things she would have said, things she would have done?  Were there worries she would have let go, and cares she would have let slide?  What are the things that she left undone?  I don't know her well enough to answer for her, but if she is like me, I suspect the answer is yes..

If it had been my last week, the list of things left undone would have been long.  Too long for my liking.  This life does not go on forever.  Some of us get a few more years, but in the end, we all have to go.  Someday, my tomorrows will run out.  I have no idea when that day will come.  What if it were tomorrow?  To end this life with no regrets, I should be prepared for each day as if it were my last.

Pondering these thoughts has not made me rush around tying up loose ends, planning a funeral, completing my bucket list, or checking things off my standard, boring to-do list.  I haven't called all my family and friends to tell them I love them. (Although, I think that would be a good idea.)  I haven't booked a trip to Europe, or went on a shopping spree.  I haven't dropped to my knees praying in fear for my soul.

What I have done is slow down, way down, and look at my world with softer eyes.  My ears are open, and my mind is calm.  I want to see all there is to see, and hear all there is to hear.    I want to sit and look my loved ones in the eye and really hear what they are saying.  I don't need to cut them short, and answer their questions, solve all their problems.  I need to listen.  I know what I think.  I want to really hear what they think. I want to taste my food, each and every bite.  I want to see the sunrise, and the sunset.  I want to walk in the sun, and feel the rain on my face. I want to smell all the flowers, and pet all the puppies. I want to love without barriers and forgive without conditions. I don't want to miss a thing.

I don't want to waste another minute of my life being angry or arguing, fearful or judging.   I'm ok with doing mundane tasks like dishes, and laundry.  If that is my last act, then it would be an act of service to my family, and that makes me happy.  I'm ok with paying bills, and planning for the future, even if I'm gone, those that remain need things in order.  I'm not giving up responsibility, but I am letting go of anxiety.

I am going to keep writing, and learning tai chi. I will love now, forgive now, and live now.  Each moment is precious, and a gift from God.  Each person I come to know, each beautiful thing I get to see, it's all a gift.  No matter how long I live, life is too short to be unhappy, even for a moment.