by Laura Hess

In April my mother died. My life changedÉmy world changed. I’d been planning to go to San Diego and spend time with her. The weekend finally came. We were both looking forward to our time together. She’d said, “If what you want is to stay up all night and talk, that’s what we’ll do.”

I’d checked in at the gate and was waiting for my plane to board. My husband and I were going to sit and have coffee while we waited. I was paged over the airport intercom. I was not prepared for the call I got. One of my sisters was on the phone: “Mom is in the hospital and she’s dying.”

That was the instant my world changed! Coffee forgotten, we returned to the boarding area. For the next hour we waited. I was totally disconnected from my life and what was going on around me. My flight was late. (This from the airline with the best on-time record. There are no accidents!). I was called to the desk and given a message to call my brother. I did and my other sister answered the phone. “It’s over,” was all she said.

My life since then has been like an abstract canvas — the images and feelings are unclear. I’ve noticed more (and less) in my life. I’m more aware (and less). One of the “lessons” has repeatedly been presented to me by people close to me and others who know how much I love stories. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve received the story I’m sharing with you. This morning, though, I paid attention. “Okay, okay! I get it. I’m supposed to hear this and share it. It’s not an accident I’ve been struggling with my article for this month.” As soon as I got the message, the rest was easy.

Here’s the story (lightly edited and shortened) for you. It was written by Ann Wells of the Los Angeles Times:

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 following when I helped him and my niece attend to all the sad chores following 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 she hadn’t seen, heard or done. I thought about the things she’d done without realizing 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. 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.

“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 trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives. Every morning as I open my eyes, I tell myself it’s special.

Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift from God.

This IS a story to live by. Is my life different now? You bet! Because of the story? No. My life is different as a result of an unexpected loss. I’m much more aware of everything in my life. I’m grateful for little things as well as big ones. I cherish the people close to me and appreciate everybody who is part of my life. I don’t have the chance to spend time with my mom. All the questions I had for her will be left unanswered. The rest of my life is ahead of me now. I can do things differently and already I see that my choices are different.