by Ann Wells
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 that followed
when I helped him and my niece attend
to all the sad chores that follow 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 that
she hadn't seen or heard or done. I
thought about the things that she had
done without realizing that 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.
Whenever possible, life
should be a pattern of
experience to savor, |