At this Christmas season, my mind goes back to people in my life that have made an impact on me. My Mother first, who loved Christmas so very much The many memories of my dear Mother are indelible on my mind at this season. She did so love Christmas because it was commemorating the birth of our Saviour who meant everything to her.
There will be many posts in the future about my Mother, but this morning, I have my Mother-in-Law on my mind.
In 1996, in the month of June, my Mother-in-law had been at my home to spend a week with me. It was her way of having a vacation. I was so glad to have her, even though I had to work during the day.
She sat on the front porch in the rocking chair and enjoyed the peace of my neighborhood. Her home was in an apartment with many elderly people, and her only outlet were the people who gathered in the communal area, and the cafeteria. So coming here was a treat for her, where she could be in a different place, talk to different people, and just enjoy the beautiful weather.
I always enjoyed her company, as she, being an avid reader, as I am, the two of us could have great conversations.
Later in her life, she finally was moved to our area into a beautiful facility which she enjoyed tremendously until her death. We went to garage sales every Saturday, which was her favorite thing to do, because she collected little vases. When she passed away she had hundreds that she had collected. Many were very nice, many were just ones that she liked. She also picked up many novels to read. She read about two books a week.
In her earlier days, she had been a "society" lady, traveling by train and plane to many places with her husband before he died. However, when she was considered too old to travel, she was content to be where she was, interacting with the other residents.
Her last years were committed to God as her Saviour.
I really miss her.
During one of the trips when I went to pick her up to come stay awhile with me while she was living in Alabama, she began to tell me a story about a family member, who was deceased. The story was so interesting that I hardly remembered the two and one-half hour drive from my home to hers. It inspired me so, that I could not wait to get back home to write it down. I took some liberties with the story near the end, but all in all, the story is totally true as she told it to me.
I do not pretend to be a writer, and especially a poet. I do not know the proper way to turn a phrase and the proper meters of poetry, but this is the way it came from my memory of the story. I have changed the name of the person I have written about for privacy.
Things will pass away, but only lives lived for God will last.
There will be many posts in the future about my Mother, but this morning, I have my Mother-in-Law on my mind.
In 1996, in the month of June, my Mother-in-law had been at my home to spend a week with me. It was her way of having a vacation. I was so glad to have her, even though I had to work during the day.
She sat on the front porch in the rocking chair and enjoyed the peace of my neighborhood. Her home was in an apartment with many elderly people, and her only outlet were the people who gathered in the communal area, and the cafeteria. So coming here was a treat for her, where she could be in a different place, talk to different people, and just enjoy the beautiful weather.
I always enjoyed her company, as she, being an avid reader, as I am, the two of us could have great conversations.
Later in her life, she finally was moved to our area into a beautiful facility which she enjoyed tremendously until her death. We went to garage sales every Saturday, which was her favorite thing to do, because she collected little vases. When she passed away she had hundreds that she had collected. Many were very nice, many were just ones that she liked. She also picked up many novels to read. She read about two books a week.
In her earlier days, she had been a "society" lady, traveling by train and plane to many places with her husband before he died. However, when she was considered too old to travel, she was content to be where she was, interacting with the other residents.
Her last years were committed to God as her Saviour.
I really miss her.
During one of the trips when I went to pick her up to come stay awhile with me while she was living in Alabama, she began to tell me a story about a family member, who was deceased. The story was so interesting that I hardly remembered the two and one-half hour drive from my home to hers. It inspired me so, that I could not wait to get back home to write it down. I took some liberties with the story near the end, but all in all, the story is totally true as she told it to me.
I do not pretend to be a writer, and especially a poet. I do not know the proper way to turn a phrase and the proper meters of poetry, but this is the way it came from my memory of the story. I have changed the name of the person I have written about for privacy.
Sarah
She loved things
beautiful things
old things
new things.
Many times
she would find a treasure
and take it home
and shine it
and work on it
until it became beautiful.
She surrounded herself
with her things.
Even a big black grand piano.
And she would run her long slender fingers
over the ivory keys
Until she would imagine that
It sounded as good
As one in Carnegie Hall.
She collected things
All her life.
She got such pleasure
From looking at
Her things.
One day, she became sick.
Someone took her
To her daughter's house.
A big modern house
With modern things in it.
Her things came
In a big truck
And were shoved carelessly
Into a shed at the back
Of the big modern house.
Even the big black grand piano.
As her illness progressed
Her daughter took her
To a nursing home.
There, she saw wheel chairs
And sick people
And nurses
And doctors
And there were no
Beautiful things.
She's gone now.
Her things are still
In the shed
At the back of the big
Modern house.
Even the big black
Grand piano.
Things come and go
In the big modern house.
Modern things
Seem to have
No lasting value.
Modern furniture
Ugly
And garish
And bold
And bright.
Some even decorated
With plastic.
A music system called
Surround-sound
From which loud harsh sounds
Were made to come.
The grandchildren
Have long ago
Discovered the shed
At the back
Of the house
With her things.
Her beautiful things.
Her cherished things.
Even the big black
Grand Piano.
The grandchildren
Have been into
The trunks
Where her clothes were stored.
Her once beautiful clothes.
Clothes that made her feel special
And beautiful.
The grandchildren put on
Those clothes
And played in them
And ripped them
And made tatters in them
And got them dirty
Then threw them down
And walked away.
The shed is getting old now.
No one has cared for it
And the water drips through
The roof when it rains.
Even onto the big black grand piano
Until there are ugly white
Spots on the paint
And cracks in the wood.
And dust on the ivory notes.
Her clothes lay tattered
And dirty
On the floor
And spiders have built
Cobwebs around them.
A picture lies
On the floor
And there is a tear in
The canvas
Of the beautiful piece of art
Where it has fallen
Against something.
And it is covered in dust
So that one can
Barely detect
The beauty that once was there.
A granddaughter
Opens the door
To the old shed one day
And looks in disgust.
"Why doesn't someone
Do something with this place",
She thinks.
"All this junk.
All these things.
Things that have
No meaning".
Not even the
Big black
Grand Piano.
(copyright 1996)
***********************************
The moral of this story to me, is that we should respect and cherish the things of our loved ones that have left this world. Our children should be taught to love their family members enough that a respect for the person and the things that made them happy should be important to them. I know that things are the least important, a relationship with our God is the most important. And in the end, the love of our family and friends should bring a respect of the things they loved, and stories of lives lived for God should be passed on from generation to generation so that we all may improve on that knowledge to make our lives even better.
Then again, someone once told me, "things can be replaced, people can't".
The reader can draw their own conclusion about this story.
What seems lacking in this story is the mention of Sarah's relationship with God. I do not know the answer to that. Another lesson.
Things will pass away, but only lives lived for God will last.
4 comments:
This makes you really stop and think. This brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for sharing.
It's almost as if "Sarah" is very near to that old shed and watching sadly, the slow destruction of a very careful life. Beautifully written...
Alice, This story touched my heart as I have experienced this in my own way with the passing of my sister, Donna last month. I wanted to pack her things away myself because I wanted all her belongings to be handled with utmost respect. I have a large family with my Dad and 2 brothers and another sister still with us. Donna also has a grown son. I don't mean to imply that they would have been disrespectful of her things but I knew this was something I just had to do without a lot of discussion. Maybe I was being selfish, and maybe hurt some feelings but it was a healing balm for me to do this. Even last night I talked with my husband concerning an item in her home that a friend had given her just a couple of weeks before she died, the smile on her face as she took me into her bedroom to show me a small stuffed dog that barked music carols... I told him I wished I had taken the little dog to her friend and given it back and told her the about the smile on my sister's face as she shared this small gift with me and the concern she had for her friend as she has a brain tumor. Little did we know that my sister would pass unexpectedly 2 weeks later. As I think back that was probably the last smile I saw on my sister's face. Something so insignificant to others meant the world to Donna. To end this story I have you tell you that I do not know where the little stuffed dog is that brought such joy to my sister's heart. But I have learned a lesson that even the smallest acts of kindness shown to others no matter what it may be can bring a smile to someones heart and life. Missing my sister... Vicki
Sarah...such a sweet story. I think you are a fine writer! Thanks for stopping by my blog. It's a small world, isn't it? And it seems we have a lot in common!
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