My
brother-in-law opened the bottom drawer of my
sister's bureau and lifted out a tissue-wrapped
package. "This," he said, "is not a slip. This
is lingerie." He discarded the tissue and handed me
the slip.
It was exquisite; silk, handmade and trimmed with a
cobweb of lace.
The price tag with
an astronomical figure on it was still attached.
"Jan bought this the first time we went to New
York, at least 8 or 9 years ago. She never wore
it. She was saving it for a special occasion.
Well, I guess this is the occasion."
He took the slip
from me and put it on the bed with the other
clothes we were taking to the mortician. His hands
lingered on the soft material for a moment, then
he slammed the drawer shut and turned to me.
"Don't ever save anything for a special occasion.
Every day you're alive is a special occasion."
I remembered those
words through the funeral and the days that
followed when I helped him and my niece
attend to all the sad chores that follow an
unexpected death. I thought about them on the
plane returning to California from the Midwestern
town where my sister's family lives. I thought
about all the things that she hadn't seen or heard
or done. I thought about the things that she had
done without realizing that they were special.
I'm still thinking
about his words, and they've changed my life. I'm
reading more and dusting less. I'm sitting on the
deck and admiring the view without fussing about
the weeds in the garden. I'm spending more time
with my family and friends and less time in
committee meetings.
Whenever possible,
life should be a pattern of experience to savor,
not endure. I'm trying to recognize these moments
now and cherish them. I'm not "saving" anything;
we use our good china and crystal for every
special event -- such as losing a pound, getting
the sink unstopped, the first camellia blossom.
I wear my good
blazer to the market if I feel like it. My theory
is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49
for one small bag of groceries without wincing.
I'm not saving my good perfume for special
parties; clerks in hardware stores and tellers in
banks have noses that function as well as my
party-going friends'.
"Someday" and "one
of these days" are losing their grip on my
vocabulary. If it's worth seeing or hearing or
doing, I want to see and hear and do it now.
I'm not sure what
my sister would have done had she known that she
couldn't be here for the tomorrow we all take for
granted.
I think she would
have called family members and a few close
friends. She might have called a few former
friends to apologize and mend fences for past
squabbles.
I like to think
she would have gone out for a Chinese dinner, her
favorite food.
I'm guessing --
I'll never know.
It's those little
things left undone that would make me angry if I
knew that my hours were limited.
Angry because I
put off seeing good friends whom I was going to
get in touch with -- someday.
Angry because I
hadn't written certain letters that I intended to
write -- one of these days.
Angry and sorry
that I didn't tell my husband and daughter often
enough how much I truly love them.
I'm trying very
hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything
that would add laughter and luster to our lives.
And every morning
when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is
special.
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