A Box Full of Thoughts
Sometimes I see my mind as a storeroom, with old wooden shelves stocked with cardboard boxes that are filled to compaction with sixty plus years of memories; a little dust covered maybe, but memories worth keeping nonetheless. The more recent memories get packed away in clean boxes waiting for the lids to be taped shut and stored, their chance to gather some dust of their own over time.
Recently I had the opportunity, with my daughter’s, to go through some old pictures of family and other relatives. Remembering the events that brought us all together wasn’t difficult to do, and honestly; the time spent with my daughter’s talking about the people and places in the picture’s made for a pleasant journey back in history.
Another moment in my life to cherish, I made sure to let them know how much of a pleasure the time spent with them was, but all the while I know, these days, enjoying family history is second or maybe third or fourth on the list of things for people to do. But that’s the rub, if we don’t take the time to at least view our family history, then some distant day, the box of pictures will become another box that gets stored in every place a person lives in, gets left behind for some stranger to toss in the garbage or sold to some non caring “Picker” for pennies in some garage sale.
Sometime after seeing my daughter flipping through some of the picture’s, I asked my daughter’s husband; does she flip through life this way? She never used to, guess it’s the haste we allow in our lives today; I call very little normal these days, haste with family history is not normal; it’s loss.
After a good dinner, some assorted conversations, laughs, a trip to Walgreens to make prints of the picture’s so that the originals could stay in the box with the rest of the unchosen picture’s, it was time for my children to leave for their prospective home’s.
The house was quiet, the dishes washed, an assortment of pictures that never made their way back in the tin container they reside in, they were just resting on a couple of books that always sit on the three foot round ottoman. I reached over and took up the pictures.
I spread the nine yet to be put away pictures over the empty space on the ottoman. Four pictures of my daughter’s, playing in the sand at Seaside, their joy made up two pictures of them, another of them in their Hawaiian gowns when they were about three years old, the forth was of them both sitting in a little red wagon. I Love my children, they are beautiful to this day, unconditional Love for them; oh yeah.
One picture had my sister and I, and my daughter’s, standing around my mother who was towards the end of her days as she was in her wheelchair and wearing her oxygen tubes. Life is in that picture, the one thing that is unseen in the picture, is the forgiveness I held for a mother that could never say I Love you to me, or give me an honest hug, but my daughter’s are in the picture, along with my sister. My children, for me, make the picture worthwhile. But the picture also doesn’t reflect the future, a time of my sister not taking the time to talk and understand something said, that may or may not be her regret someday down the line; for the picture though, she looks happy.
That makes five, leaving four pictures left for me to savor. Two of the four, the Love of my life in all four, these two had her in her youthful years, she was so cute. One when I first met her, her smile and beautiful green eye’s, her long auburn hair with her sunglasses resting above her forehead; so beautiful. The last of the nine is a picture of her standing on a mound of grass, next to her Canine Companion trainee. Her hair fluffed by the breeze, her head tilted slightly; her beautiful face graced by her always precious to me smile.
Pausing after looking at the pictures, reflecting on the day with my children and what life the picture’s represent, I thought about Heaven and the Love of my life.
While we were looking through the collection of pictures and memories, the television was tuned in on the show Ghost Whisper, I like that show, it’s got a truck load of heart, and the promise of something better for those that have regrets after they die but can’t crossover into Heaven. It’s a great show, I honestly wish it was still on today in this world of haste and wasted time.
One of my daughter’s said I don’t know if I believe in all that stuff. I knew what she was talking about, there is a understated yet evident spiritual side in every episode. Probably the reason why the show isn’t on, I don’t know; but looking at the rest of television’s line up of shows, I might just be right. Hey, if it’s good enough for television, then it’s good enough for us right; wrong. I told my daughter that some people have to wait till they die to figure out that there is a Heaven and God, till then they live what they are taught. But by saying the words [I don’t know], that should lead anyone, on this subject anyway, to try and understand what they don’t know, before denouncing Heaven and God, or writing off Heaven and God all together.
But in everyone’s misconception of Heaven and God, or their lack of understanding regardless if they took the time to understand or not; what are they going to say when they die some day down life’s hopefully long highway; and there before them is Heaven.
People can say they went to Heaven and returned, who am I to say it’s not true, but a grain of salt is a grain of salt if your listening to some fine suited evangelist that Loves to talk about his private jet and all his riches, yet says he’s been to Heaven.
If anything, Heaven is or should be a humbling experience, even at a glance, Heaven should be humbling. Not to mention, or forget, anyone crossing over into the light, they don’t usually come back to tell the tale, but souls can touch, that little quiver just below the ribs.
But in my thoughts after my children left for their homes, what if I could take some pictures of the journey home to my Loves side and our fuzzy companions; what if I could document the journey and download it to some PBS station for the viewers opportunity to be the critic of a scientist mathematical or society’s view of life and death vs a person’s humble Faith in God and Heaven minus any of the religious manmade analogies and misconceptions.
I haven’t been to Heaven, I don’t have a jet or untold monetary riches tucked away in my mansion for security from the prying eyes of my servants and gardeners. But I have been on deaths doorstep a couple of times. I never saw a stairway, and getting even close to Heaven was in the blink of an eye, no matter how long I was out of it down here on this earth for which I can say was longer in time than the time it takes to wink at a Loved one. But the light was the most beautiful light I have ever seen, and that life passing before your eye’s part of a near death experience, believe it in anyone’s eye’s or not, it sure leaves you humble and comfortable in your wait. I don’t care if you take my word for both, it’s a personal experience that a person has, never an experience meant for a group to understand or debunk.
So for now, with the picture and memories, the thoughts of those that have gone on before me, and like my children that are still here on this earth, and with all the Love I have for them all; I think I will allow Love to feed my hope and Faith in my time left here on this earth. That’s far better than the scientific, societal, or even religions view of an alternative. I am certainly glad I have those pictures though, and if I was anyone reading this; I wouldn’t hold your breath while waiting for my PBS special, because it just simply never works that way!