In the last
week I’ve been looking back through the journal I have kept since Arthur died, on
the 9th of February of this year. This passage from March 2 jumped
out at me:
Last night I
had a wonderful dream full of portent. There was a gathering of young people,
like some kind of church service, and I was going to speak. During the service
for some reason I walked down the hall and found a room filled with old and ill
men. A small, crippled man was down on the floor and couldn’t get up, and I
tenderly helped him to his feet. One of the men was holding a baby and asked me
to take it. A person came along and said I wasn’t really supposed to be there,
and it was time for me to speak anyway.
On my way to the lectern I
handed the baby to someone (and hugged my niece Gwen, who was wearing a pretty
white dress). Then I started to speak, about loss. I talked about how we take
someone or thing for granted, and forget to tell them we love them, or learn
more about them, or just fully enjoy who or what they are. Then one day they
are gone and so much of our feeling of loss comes from the realization that
while they were with us we thought we always had tomorrow to fully pay
attention to them. Tomorrow is a mirage. Love what you have today. Pay
attention, say I love you, ask questions. You may never get another chance.
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