I'm sure many have read this before through forwarded emails- I know I have. But today, when I re-read it, it really struck me. And today I thought I would completely steel something that is probably copyrighted and post it on my public blog- and I'll probably go to jail or get some huge fine, but I take that risk because I really want to share it. You can thank me later. When you bake me a cake with a file in it.
Their marriage was good, their dreams focused.
Their best friends lived barely a wave away.
I can see them now,
Dad in trousers, work shirt and a hat;
and Mom in a house dress,
lawn mower in one hand, and dish-towel in the other .
It was the time for fixing things:
a curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door,
the oven door, the hem in a dress.
Things we keep.
It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy .
All that re-fixing, re-heating leftovers, renewing;
I wanted just once to be wasteful? Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant you knew there'd always be more.
But when my mother died, and I was standing in that clear morning light in the warmth of the hospital room,
I was struck with the pain of learning
that sometimes there isn't any more.
Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away...never to return.
So.... While we have it, it's best we love it... And care for it...
And fix it when it's broken... And heal it when it's sick.
This is true: For marriage... And old cars...
And children who misbehave at times...
Dogs and cats with bad hips...
And aging parents...
We keep them because they are worth it,
because we are worth it.
Some things we keep.