Things That I'll Miss When I Die

Page 14. Die. Tell me what you will miss when you die.

The first time I glanced at this sentence, the sole sentence on the page, struggles immediately popped into my mind. I was at once startled and puzzled by my gut reaction. Then I dismissed it and read on.

The second time I came back to it my thought was caring. That made a bit more sense. But...
sunsets, laughter, the faces of children, sharing a meal with loved ones, new life in the springtime, the beach, leaves in the fall. All those...Why not those spectacular earthly things?

To interpret the idea literally, I am a Christian. I believe, since Christ is my savior - offering me the immeasurable gift that He has - that I'll be in heaven with Him after I die. There will be absolutely no "missing" anything or anyone. I know that. And I know that there will be far greater things there than the ones I listed above. So I do suppose I'm left with two things that I think I'll have the possibility of "missing" from earth - struggles and caring.

I'm not a martyr or anything. I've imagined the life of a lottery winner a few times. Or the life of a billionaire heiress, world's away from the life of a daughter of two public school music teachers. I am transported to Santorini, surrounded by blue and white. I'm wearing a bronze, stylish bathing suit. And I'm drinking something colorful. And I'm very, very thin. Stan is laying beside me smoking an expensive cigar, reading the paper. What am I doing? What am I thinking? What am I sinking my teeth into besides the incredible lunch that sits on the white marble table on my left? ...This is getting boring already. I'm sure heiresses have their struggles. But even if I had "the finer things" I'm not convinced they'd be the things I'd miss.

Two memories that I cherish might express this well. For now, I'll only share the "caring" one. Someday when I'm brave I'll share the "struggling" one. Natalie Goldberg says that no one wants to read a writer who isn't brave. That's okay with me for now, though it is a special gift to have friends who enjoy reading what comes out of me. For the most part, however, what other people read is none of my business.

Once I was sitting on my front porch reading and looked up to see a person face down on the sidewalk across the street. I was shocked. One minute, no one, the next minute, this. I straightened up and stared over the side of my porch. Was it a young man? Had he passed out drunk? Was it a drug overdose? We lived near a halfway house and had witnessed all sorts of scenes. This person was laying at the bus stop where the residents usually stood. I just wasn't sure I wanted to get involved. No, I wanted to go, but something made me stay. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman running down the street out of nowhere. She ran to the collapsed person and helped her to her feet. She was an older woman. I'd seen her before. She lived in the halfway house and worked at the mall. This kind citizen helped the woman walk up the street and, I'm assuming, to her house to care for her.

I was crushed. I prayed right there on the spot that God would give me another chance. Here was a person laying face down on the pavement right in front of me and I sat there and stared, never leaving my chair. I was so ashamed. I wanted to be able to be brave enough to do the right thing.

Surely, God provided another chance. It was a couple years later. There was a figure standing on the curb in the dead of winter, waiting for the bus. The person was wearing a parka with a hood. It was late Saturday night and the buses had stopped running. Stan went out for a meeting. When he came back hours later, he called upstairs to me with a worried tone. Jennie, that guy's been standing there for hours waiting in the cold...he has a walker and it looks like he's leaning against the pole sleeping. I went to the window and looked down at the figure huddled against the pole. The cold February night was dark gray and bare. The figure standing there unmoving sent shivers down my spine. There was that familiar fear, that oh brother, don't get involved type feeling.

I told Stan to call the police. They came and offered to take the person to a shelter, but she declined their help. It was an old woman. After they left I invited her up to my porch. I wrapped her in a blanket and made her some eggs and toast. I pulled off her wet flimsy boots and put some of my warm thick socks on her feet. I rifled through my stuff and found some old leather gloves that would keep her hands warm. Stan drove her to where she wanted to go and gave her the contents of his wallet.

She had wanted to sleep in my house that night, but I couldn't let her. She was mentally ill...I had children sleeping soundly...I was afraid. I did what I could do and I did it joyfully and thankfully. Every time I sincerely reach out to care for another person I feel so thankful. It brings joy to my day. I guess there will be "caring" in heaven too, I just can't imagine what that will be like.