Читать книгу Living Long, Living Passionately - Karen Casey - Страница 18

Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there.

—Ray Bradbury

I have lost a number of very good friends over the past couple of years. And I have mementos from three of the women in my study. A rock from one friend, a book from another, and a pin from the third. I find myself looking at their pictures, holding their remembrances, and feeling their presence in a very distinct way each time, just as Bradbury suggests in the above quote.

I think of these women, and my mother too, as the angels who hover around my shoulders at good times, as well as at difficult times. And actually, I have very few difficult times anymore. I'm inclined to think it might be because I have the protection of Joy, Cate, Beverly, and Mom, particularly Mom, who shared a secret with me, one that put closure on an earlier chapter of my life and hers. That secret became the glue that drew us into a relationship so sweet.

Arriving at the threshold of seventy-five, nearly takes my breath away. How could the years have passed so quickly? Death may well be twenty years from now, and I hope it is (if my health holds), but most of my life has already been lived. Regardless, I remember so well second grade, Miss White and the point of her pencil pushing against my skull. I begged to get out of her classroom. No dice. And I can't forget Mr. Priest and the sixth grade picnic at his cabin on the river. I got the worst sunburn of my life, perhaps because I insisted on wearing the halter top my mother said was too baring. I couldn't stand the feeling of clothes touching my shoulders for days.

And remembering my first bonafide date with Steve, the love of my life in high school, still makes my heart race a bit. Like so many other girls in the '50s, I was sure that if he and I married it would be forever. It was never to be, of course. Most high school romances come to a necessary end.

All things have their end, in one respect. Experiences. People. Sometimes relationships too. I don't mean for this essay to be maudlin. On the contrary, I think that what lies ahead in this life, or the next, will be greater than my heart or mind can currently imagine. I don't think of my loved ones on the other side as shadowy figures. I think of them as still vibrant, just living life in a different form. To some this may seem crazy, but it fills me with joy to remember Joy, her laughter, her sense of humor, the way she had of bringing dark experiences into the light of acceptance. We laughed with her. I still laugh with her when I recall some of her stories. And I have a strong sense that she hears me. I think actively remembering our loved ones who have passed into the next realm keeps them “working” on our behalf. And I, for one, figure I need all the help I can get.

What are your thoughts about dying or the dead who have passed already? You have some, for sure. Perhaps no one has so pointedly asked you this before, but digging deep to reveal our inner thoughts in this latter stage of life is good for us. I'm sure of it. Do you consider the dead as helpmates for your journey here? I like the belief that our opportunities to help others and be helped, in return, never end. If Bradbury is right, and the spirit of each of us is left within an item we can see or touch, it suggests the sacred presence of any one of us is present with every one of us for all time. What a delicious thought.

Whom do you remember dearly? And why?

And whom do you hope will keep your spirit alive? Why?

Journaling a while about these questions will clarify what you believe, thus revealing to you some opportunities for new directions. Check out the family pictures, see who is there and wants to be remembered. Note an item on your desk or in a drawer or on a bookshelf that might have come from a loved one that is no longer here in the flesh.

What does this item tell you?

Why have you hung on to it?

What have you passed on to a loved one that he or she may cherish?

What did the item mean to you?

What do you hope it means to her or him?

What is it about eternity that appeals to you? Or not?

As Edwin Hubbell Chapin said, “Every action in our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity.” What a sweet thought to cherish.