Today my Dad wanted us to go down to Acworth and visit our Aunt and Uncle—my Mom’s oldest sister. They talk often, and I think it helps each of them to stay in contact and talk about old times. There’s was some dresses and other clothes that one of Mom’s close friends had given her a few weeks before she died that she had planned on wearing to church, or possibly even her next class reunion or other gathering. I don’t know if anyone else does this, but we sometimes hang clothes on the top frame of some doorways, or closet doors, just whatever is convenient at that very moment until room can be made for them inside the closet. These clothes had been hanging there where Mom had put them, undisturbed—until today. Dad wanted to give them to our Aunt to see if she wanted any of them, and for those that she couldn’t wear or just didn’t want, she would take to a church where someone that could use them could have them.
A couple of weeks ago, Chase and I were asked why we don’t drink. Being our age and not drinking, and especially throwing in the fact that we have never drank, is a huge rarity in society today. I’m proud of it. I’m proud of the fact that I don’t feel like I have to do something and give in to peer pressure in order to fit in or have friends.
There’s no nightmare stories or memories of others drinking. It’s just a complete personal decision. My parents were never like “you better not ever drink” or anything like that. In fact, I never remember even having a discussion about it at all. I’ve never had the desire to, and as bad as things could ever be, I’m extremely confident that I will never have the desire to, ever. It’s a harder path to take, if you want to consider the ridicule you’ll get from the occasional “friend” or in-law, but I prefer to be 100% coherent 100% of the time.
It’s true—I’m an observer, a listener, a thinker.
I’ve been in a downer of a mood for the past several weeks. I’ve been trying to grasp what life is really about, but keep coming up empty handed. We live, we work, we die, we become forgotten. Maybe in the middle of two of those somewhere, we love, but almost always before we die, we become alone. All of this happens relatively quickly if you look back in retrospect and realize how quickly the years that are contained within your age have seemed to pass almost within the blink of an eye. The pains of yesterday, today, and tomorrow will someday be nonexistent any longer. The pains of yesterday are supposed to be something that make us stronger, but often leave us broken and scarred. Those pains of today mean nothing to some…to most. The pains of tomorrow we ignore in the hopes that they will not come to pass.
We’re having a Thanksgiving get together at my brother’s house with my Mom’s side of the family in a little bit. Something that’s not happened since we were kids, because of life.
What do people fear most about death? I asked the Reb.
“Fear?” He thought for a moment. “Well, for one thing, what happens next? Where do we go? Is it what we imagined?”
That’s big.
“Yes. But there’s something else.”
What else?
He leaned forward.
“Being forgotten,” he whispered.
Have a Little Faith, Mitch Albom
Chase and I have conversations often, trying to recollect how things used to be. It’s really disheartening when neither of us can remember what Mom used to say for certain times or things. I don’t want to forget any of the small details of the way things used to be or the way things used to happen. That’s a part of who I am, and to forget anything like that is numbing. It actually scares me that as time passes people forget. I don’t want to forget people, and I don’t want to be forgotten when I’m gone. Life’s scary sometimes, ya know?
I learned a few days ago, that a neighbor that I’ve had for my entire life has cancer…again. She had it years ago before I had any idea what the word cancer could really mean for someone. I knew she had it, battled it, and won, and that was the extent of my knowledge about her battle. She’s married, and is a wonderful person, as well as her husband. They’re good people is what we say. This is another instance in which I just want to ask why bad things have to always happen to good people. Of course, that’s a question that we can ask until we’re blue in the face and never get an answer for.
What I’m having a hard time with is what it must be like to be her, or just as much, her husband. See, as scary as learning that you have cancer is, it’s learning that you have a time left to go with it, and her doctors have given her 2 months. I am completely positive that they are both right with God, and perhaps even as scary as it could be for them, maybe knowing in their hearts that they’ll see each other again in Heaven is what will make it easier for them.
A year ago today, you took away from me one of the only people that will ever love me unconditionally throughout my entire life. You took away from me one of the only people that was always there for me when I needed to talk or needed a hug no matter what. You took away one of the only people that knew where my heart was in life and wanted even more than she wanted to get well for me to find it. You took away one of the only people at home that would actually listen to me with their full and undivided attention.
You are in part to blame too for any resentment or hurt feelings that now exists between anyone in my family, for without you taking Mom, that would have never happened. I hope you’re happy, because I hate you with every ounce of my being.
I miss you so much Mom—today and every day.
I think some of the horrible and most agonizing experiences that we are forced to go through in the end do shape us into being better people. Sometimes it may be something that makes someone put on some type of shield to become a stronger person. Sometimes it may be something that takes that protective shield down, and make that person become what could best be described as being more tender. In my case, I am more the latter now. Hearing of people going through a rough time, seeing someone’s health take the turn for the worse, or seeing someone learn of their family or friends being diagnosed with cancer or a life threatening illness just kills me now. I would describe myself as always having been a compassionate person, but with the ability to not let my feelings show or to let someone see or notice how I felt. Perhaps part of it is just part of getting older. You begin to realize that people won’t be here forever, and you never really know. We’re not guaranteed tomorrow, or even the next minute, and it stinks that sometimes it’s easy to let things get in the way and forget that. But never let life cloud that one thought.
With the heat of Summer receding for the crisp air of Fall, the evenings are perfect in North Georgia to spend the remainder of sunlight until dark on the front porch, talking. Talking about everything under the sun—work, news, the day, and most importantly, life. Even with the heat and humidity of Summer, that’s how our evenings were mostly spent, enjoying one another’s company. But as you might guess if you know me well, well all of us for that matter, we’ve not sat and talked on the front porch all Summer, and likely won’t over the Fall either. It’s just something I think we’ve all decided without even talking about it that it’s something that can never have the meaning or importance that it once did, without Mom.
People have to face regrets. Becoming mature means learning to accept what you cannot change, facing unresolved sorrows and learning to love life as it really happens, not as you would have it happen. When someone attaches unkindness to criticism, she’s angry. Angry people need to criticize as an outlet for their anger. That’s why you must reject unkind criticism. Unkind criticism is never part of a meaningful critique of you. Its purpose is not to teach or to help, its purpose is to punish. Life isn’t supposed to be an all or nothing battle between misery and bliss. Life isn’t supposed to be a battle at all. And when it comes to happiness, well, sometimes life is just okay, sometimes it’s comfortable, sometimes wonderful, sometimes boring, sometimes unpleasant. When your day’s not perfect, it’s not a failure or a terrible loss. It’s just another day.
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© Copyright 2007-2012 Shane Holden
All Rights Reserved.
