LAST CHANCES

What was I doing on August 30, 2006? There is little vagueness in the recollection of that sunny day. It is likely, unless I develop some form of forgetful memory syndrome, that I will never forget that day. I remember voices and inflections, scenes in color, attitudes and reactions. Though I suppose that the fact that I took photos on that day would have something to do with the fact that I have vivid photos in my mind depicting the day, there are still unphotographed moments that are etched upon my memory bank.

It was the day to finish up. Two large moving vans had taken away our belongings and were stashed somewhere waiting for the trip to Petersburg on the morrow. August 30th was to be the day to wipe up the floors, have the carpet cleaned, sweep out the garage, make the final walkthrough and turn the key, so to speak, to the Novean Parkway chapter in our lives. But that is not how it turned out.

In order to get to my point, this description of the day will be succinct. The well company trucks came unexpectedly to raise the pump to an above-ground position. The septic trucks were next to arrive. The front yard was filled with large vehicles.

The carpet man came and proceeded to clean the living room carpet. Surveyors with expensive equipment came to survey the land that had not changed since the last survey. The well people, finished with their messy task, informed us that we could not use the water for 12 hours. Crash. I was counting on this day to do the final cleaning.

Besides the professional people dotting our property, others worked feverishly to help us tie up all the loose knots. Ken walked around talking to the workers and wrote checks to them he had not counted on writing. He visited with the neighbors and packed some boxes. It was hot. He was being himself but he was not standing up straight and tall as usual. He finished loading his truck and with a taste of finality, sat down in the lawn chair close to the garage door.

We all got ready to go eat. It was 10 p.m. or close. Photos were taken of him and me sitting in front of the house. We ate, we drove to the motel, we signed in. He slept. He literally awoke in heaven.

So, what's my point. Here it is. I'm glad for the things that I did, in the face of my own incredible workload that day, to bless my husband. I could have done more, but I have made a choice not to focus on my slack but rather my acts of kindness. More than anything else in the world, I cared for his welfare and rejoiced at the very near prospect of his truly retiring and taking it easy. I recall with gratitude the times on this day two years ago that I was taking care of his needs. I could list them off, but that is not my point either.

My point is this: if I wouldn't have helped him and loved him and touched him that day and would have been caught up in the very necessary happenings and my own fatigue, I would not have had another chance. I am gripped by the truth of this yet my words seem to fall on deaf ears when reminding those around me of it. I think that missing opportunities to say "I love you" either with words or with deeds does not affect some people. For me, I'm deeply grateful for each of the specific things I can remember where I took the time and laid myself aside to bless my husband.

If it matters to you, this wishing that you had done differently when someone dies, then get on the stick. Don't count on tomorrow to shake your head at the silliness of being mad. Don't be self centered. Love lavishly. In my story, it was my last chance.