"An unexamined life is not worth living"
- Socrates
February Song (Josh Groban)
I have a ritual that I have been doing since February 2006. There is something about losing one's parents that brings to the forefront the reality of ones mortality. So, in February 2006, I decided that I needed to write my autobiography. I think this was a response, in part, to the fact that I had just lost my last parent and I was trying to make some sense of my life. Now every February, usually around my birthday, I try to update this autobiography with details of the previous year.
Another factor that contributed to my decision to doing this autobiography, was the fact that neither of my parents left much of a personal history for me and my siblings, nor therefore, our posterity. My parents were wonderful people, real people. They had their share (well, maybe more than their share) of sorrow and challenges, as well as joy and happiness. They lived rich, full lives and I felt like my children would never have the opportunity to really know them or about them unless I did something about it. These feelings later led to my organizing and writing each of their biographies for our family members. That was no small task. I had to put together their stories from bits and pieces of materials and information they left behind. I did my best to put the pieces of their lives together, but it would have been SO much easier if they had either done it themselves or allowed one of us to help them do it while they were still living. There were so many questions I would have liked to be able to ask them about certain events, places and people in their lives. Some questions still remain and will forever remain unanswered.
As part of my motivation to write this year I decided to dig into some old photographs of myself and my family. These photos have been sitting in a box in my closet for about thirteen years. I was determined I was going to make a dent in sorting through them and organizing them into some kind of an album or scrap book. My intentions were really noble, but the reality proved to be something much different. We are not the best at taking pictures of events throughout the year, but we are really good at taking pictures on birthdays and at Christmas time. Therefore, a lot of the pictures I started working through were of Christmases past. As I began looking at them I was quite shocked at what came to my attention. When I looked at the pictures of the Christmas just prior to my mother's death in 2000, and the pictures of the Christmas in 2005, just after my father's death, the contrast of the look on my face and my demeanor between the two photos was so stark and so contrasting that it took my breath away. The look of grief on my face was obvious, and I felt that old familiar lump begin to rise in my throat. I simply could not, at that time, continue to sort through the photos. I had to put them aside for another day and another time.
This experience has caused me to stop and think about who I was then and who I am now, and about the journey that has led me to this place. I saw the innocence and the joy on my face as I had opened a special gift from my mother that Christmas of 2000, before she died. It was a clock like "barometer of my husband's moods" that had hung on her wall ever since I could remember. On our trip to their home earlier that year I had expressed my desire to have that item when she died, and she had decided to gift it to me for that Christmas. Did she somehow know what would happen to her in just a few months? Needless to say, it is one of my most precious possessions. Fast forward 5 years to the Christmas following my father's death. He had died about a month earlier and the look of heavy grief and anguish was written all over my face.
Much has happened in our family since those Christmases of not-so-long ago. Time has moved on amazingly fast, and we with it. Children have grown up and moved on, and our family has grown larger with the addition of two in-laws. We have had much to celebrate over the past few years. Still, as I approach each February I always get that tug at my heart to revisit my life story and examine my life over the past year. It just seems to help me to get a perspective and to realize my blessings and just how important it is to not take anything for grandid; and to chose to live my life fully and mindfully. Sometimes I get fearful and restless, wondering what is next along my path. I get fearful of the future and what challenges might or do lie ahead. Restless about what new adventure is just around the bend. But when I look back, I am always thankful for the blessing of having lived one more year, one more day. My hope is that someday when my children look at my life story they will see someone of whom they can be proud to call theirs, someone who met her challenges with grace, dignity, courage and faith and trust in God.
This One's For You (A song Barry Manilow wrote for his deceased grandfather, who started him on his journey to becoming a musical legend.)
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