Sometimes when its quiet, I like to let my mind wonder just to see where it takes me. The mind is a wonderful thing, with the power to dream, fantasize and imagine. The power to store images from years before, memories you had since lost sight of, ideas and philosophies on life that you had forgotten existed there at all. On Sunday I did just that. After paying respects at Donnie’s moms grave site, I walked past countless others as I stopped to read the tombstones. “To know her was to love her.” was boldly written in memory of a 16 year old girl. Her picture tucked gently in the embedded stone locket. She was beautiful, with long blond hair and crystal blue eyes. I wondered what had happened to her. A car accident? Cancer? Suicide?
“He always stood for what was right and good, We will forever cherish his memory.” This stone was old and the epitaph worn. WWI was above his name. Although it’d been nearly 50 years since he passed on, there were fresh flowers in the metal vase. I thought, for someone to have been here with fresh flowers, how old must they be to remember him? A daughter? Grandchild perhaps? I continued to walk past the tombs... a baby, a mother, a son, a beloved sister to all… “Goodbye ole fishin’ buddy”, “Sleep, my little one, sleep”….I closed my eyes and tried to envision them, my minds eye seeing numerous iridescent people floating thru the cemetery surrounded by fields of daffodils and fluttering butterflies. Envisioning men of war, peacefully surrounded by all the colorful flowers, floating thru eternity as if they were meant to be there all along. My beautiful visions were crashed with the reality of pain that went along with the passing of my own dear grandmother. The pain that came with the passing of my mother in law. The tears that I watched my husband shed by her graveside. The regrets I saw portrayed by his dad, for all the things he wanted to say but didn’t, all the things he wanted to do but didn’t, and all the pain he felt he’d caused. Regrets. Regrets that I didn’t have time for my own dear grandmother in the few years before she died. I remembered her calling me for help with cooking one day, she sounded frail, and cried that she just couldn’t finish her dinner. I had things to do, and was so busy that day. I didn’t have time, but went anyway. I Rushed through helping her so I could attend to whatever task it was that I found more important, and jetted out the door. Only to realize a few short months later that she was gone. Poof.
Why are we always surprised by death? Even when we think we are prepared we still seem to experience this numbing shock. We had 5 weeks to absorb the idea of the death of my mother in law. But I fear that even had we had 5 years, we would have been just as shell shocked. We are created to live, and then we die. We know this. No one ever thinks they will live in this body forever. Yet it never fails when we lose a loved one, we always seem to feel short changed. We stand there wondering what happened? Why? How God could allow it? The bottom line is we will never know the answer to those questions. We are not in charge. There is not a huge bearded figure clothed in white up above the clouds saying “Ok, now its that ones turn…stroke, *poof*, that one, heart attack,*poof*, car crash, *poof*, house fire, *poof*”. We live our lives and sometimes things happen. Sometimes our bodies age and give out on us, and sometimes unfair things seem to happen to really good people. Such is life.
One day I will die. Its out of my control and it is guaranteed to happen. It is the one sure thing I can count on in life. And so I beg the question of myself. How will I be remembered? Fifty years after I die, will someone be leaving fresh flowers on my grave? Will my grandchildren grow up and say, “Remember when?” Or will my legacy casually fade over time. How can I leave my mark on this world. I’m not famous. Not an actor. A singer. Not a philosopher who’s ideas will be written across the pages of a world renowned book.
Why do I feel the need to be remembered anyway? Why do I feel the need to amount in the end to more than I amounted to in the beginning? Even the humblest of human beings want to be remembered for something. It is the drive within us, the drive to be noticed, loved, admired, respected. The thing that causes us to question our very existence here on planet earth.
Grasping death in its entirety, acknowledging that it is a part of life and ultimately inevitable for every person will bring you to a place of freedom. It will cause you to live each moment as if it were your last. To love. To give. To hope and dream. To stop what you are doing and give of your time and yourself. I have this little thing that I like to do. When I am asked to give of myself and find that I’m thinking I have better things to do at that moment, I ask myself a question. “If I don’t do what I intended to do, if my plans don’t come to pass….Will it really matter ten years from now? Will it matter in light of eternity?” If I can answer “no” to that question, then it’s a good way to measure whether or not it really matters in life at that moment. I’ve learned that even the most dutifully planned out details fall through. The most prepared people will experience failure and in the end, life happens. And at some point, even death happens.
Lately God has dealt heavily with me on this subject. Every person matters. Every life matters. Every homeless person, drunk person, drug addict, every orphan, every criminal, every child, mother, father, good or bad matter. Our gages in which we measure the purpose of a life, the importance of a life, is severely skewed. I believe it was Dr. Suess who said, “A person is a person, no matter how small.”
Every person you encounter will remember you for something. Will it be for the ugly way you treated them in the checkout line at walmart? Or for the hurtful words you dealt them when things didn’t go your way at work? Or for the way you talked about them when you thought no one was around to remember? How do you want your life to be remembered? Fifty years from now, will someone be leaving flowers on your grave?
Are you thirsty?
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