This moment. When a co-worker retired 2 years ago we all wished him well and sent him off with a wonderful parting gift; two tickets to Paris – one for himself and one for his wife. He and his wife had other travel plans, too, including a Hawaiian cruise and a trip to Japan.
He had been a Manager who worked long hours and whose wife stayed at home. He sometimes mentioned that he felt guilty for always working. He also talked about how he looked forward to spending more time with his wife and seeing the world together with her. About one month after his retirement she died of a massive stroke.
I had never met her but her death impacted me all the same and looking back, I know it was her death that prompted me to begin to live my life differently.
Chores. Failures. Time passing.
Seasons ending. The way something was said.
Before her death I’d say these were the things in life of which I was most aware. I was constantly playing catch up and working to get to a place where I could finally enjoy life – but somehow I never seemed to reach that place. I felt like my life had been put on hold years before.
Her death prompted an interval of soul searching for me and I soon realized that had it been me – had I suddenly died that night – I would not have been able to say I had lived life to the fullest. This was my wake-up call. And I listened.
I began to look at life through the eyes of my daughters, then ages 5 and 3 ½. Like them, I played more and worried less. Mostly, I stopped waiting for the future to arrive and started living now. Truth is, as her death made me keenly aware, I wasn’t guaranteed a future but I realized I had something even more precious – this moment – and I am so thankful for it.
Playing. Laughter. How good sunshine feels.
Spontaneity. Honesty. That I opened my eyes this morning.
Today, these are the things in life of which I am most aware and I live moment by moment appreciating each one that has been given to me.
And now, on a hot, summer day when the sprinkler is on – I kick off my shoes, run through it and laugh – just like my children.
He had been a Manager who worked long hours and whose wife stayed at home. He sometimes mentioned that he felt guilty for always working. He also talked about how he looked forward to spending more time with his wife and seeing the world together with her. About one month after his retirement she died of a massive stroke.
I had never met her but her death impacted me all the same and looking back, I know it was her death that prompted me to begin to live my life differently.
Chores. Failures. Time passing.
Seasons ending. The way something was said.
Before her death I’d say these were the things in life of which I was most aware. I was constantly playing catch up and working to get to a place where I could finally enjoy life – but somehow I never seemed to reach that place. I felt like my life had been put on hold years before.
Her death prompted an interval of soul searching for me and I soon realized that had it been me – had I suddenly died that night – I would not have been able to say I had lived life to the fullest. This was my wake-up call. And I listened.
I began to look at life through the eyes of my daughters, then ages 5 and 3 ½. Like them, I played more and worried less. Mostly, I stopped waiting for the future to arrive and started living now. Truth is, as her death made me keenly aware, I wasn’t guaranteed a future but I realized I had something even more precious – this moment – and I am so thankful for it.
Playing. Laughter. How good sunshine feels.
Spontaneity. Honesty. That I opened my eyes this morning.
Today, these are the things in life of which I am most aware and I live moment by moment appreciating each one that has been given to me.
And now, on a hot, summer day when the sprinkler is on – I kick off my shoes, run through it and laugh – just like my children.
posted by Pamela Hamilton at 4:40 PM
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