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A short time ago, in the quiet of the early evening, as a soft breeze tickled the leaves in the trees surrounding me, I sat on my back patio contemplating...
My neighbor's gardens were in bloom. Her summer flowers were bursting, grass was growing and cut. She had had a trench dug in her back yard; the lawn was filling in over it nicely.
Birds chased each other through her trees, a rabbit bounded through her yard, a paranoid squirrel hid nuts anywhere. The ebb and flow of existence. This small vista of life played out before me.
All of this and my neighbor had died six weeks ago.
Often before I go to bed at night I take a stroll outside. The cool summer nights are especially nice; dark, tranquil. It allows me to gather up my scattered thoughts at the end of the day.
Near the end of May I was doing just that, wandering up my driveway. And I noticed my neighbor's curtains wide open to her large window that faced my house.
I saw my neighbor, Vicki, lying back in a reclining desk chair, dead quiet, with a cat rolled up sleeping silently on the desk right next to her. It could have been a scene painted by Norman Rockwell.
She faced away from me so I could only see her shoulders and the top of her head. She was so still that I wondered if she was, indeed, dead. Nah, I passed it off.
The next day I received a phone call. Vicki was dead. She was dead when I saw her. She had been dead for twelve hours when I saw her.
How strange.
I didn't know Vicki well...enough to say hi and bye and talk about the weather. She lived alone. She was 68 and frail, though she still puttered about her yard when she could. She had five cats, I knew that too.
In a couple of days I was off to California to train. Vicki's memorial service was held while I was gone. As I said, I didn't know her very well. I heard it was nice.
Just a few weeks later I headed out at 7:45 in the morning for an oil change. When I returned, there were cars crawling all over my block. I was puzzled, but then saw the foot traffic coming in and out of Vicki's house. People were carrying things.
It's then I noticed a rough, hand-drawn sign in Vicki's front yard. Estate Sale, it read.
I stood and watched for a few minutes. People streamed in and out of her house like worker ants carrying items, things that she had been using just a few weeks before.
It was so weird to me, so strange. I felt a little queasy.
And then I thought, this will happen to all of us. At some point we will die. Flowers will still bloom, grass will still grow, birds will still chase each other, nights will still be quiet, someone else will sit on our patio. And people will use our stuff.
All that will remain of us is our legacy...our reputation constructed by our deeds. Our name and all that it carries. Our oral history recited to the next generation.
I hope I convey, dear reader, in words that remain etched in your heart, some day dusted off for your ancestors to ponder.
It's a universal truth. And everyone that has ever faced the end instantly knew it if they didn't know it before. Words I hope I don't squander...
That legacy is more important than riches, and happiness trumps profit.
Every time.
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