what you leave….

 I saw something this morning that made me stop and think. It was a quote "One day you will just be a memory for some people. Make sure it is a good one".  That is deeply profound and so painfully honest that it cuts to the bone.

As I get older I realize that most of the people in my life are temporary visitors, kind of like the people who drift in and out of the grocery store. That is okay because think how dreadfully boring that place would be if you didn’t have fellow shoppers. They make the task of shopping a bit more pleasant but they don’t really make a dent in that protective bubble we all use to surround ourselves, unless they ram you with a shopping cart.

Then there are those who physically or subconsciously follow you wherever you go. Their presence in your life marked you, molded you into the person you are at this moment. That is very intimidating, to know that I might have such a deep impact on someone else.

I know, without really thinking, who the people are who have influenced me and left me ‘different’ because of knowing them.  I think of daddy and all the lessons he taught me, some without ever saying a word. He taught me that respect is love with a little fear (or intimidation, whichever works) tossed in to ground it, make it strong. He taught me that you can be vulnerable without being weak. He let me know that the best hugs I would ever receive were from him.

My grandparents taught me about surviving. They all suffered poverty and heart break but that didn’t define them. Their success in life was not measured by the size of their house or the balance on a bank statement. Success was doing your best to provide for the needs of your family, sharing with those who have less, and above all being grateful. I know there were hard times but I only hear laughter and feel love when I think of them.

There were teachers that made such an impression on my mind that I can still hear their voices and remember what they taught me. Some were so unreasonably demanding of the students that I only remember the anxiety and fear of failing until I somehow managed to make a decent grade. I now know that that particular teacher taught me a very important lesson. I don’t remember the course  he taught, maybe government, but I understand hard work never killed anybody. He also taught me that high expectations usually bring out something that would have remained buried otherwise.

My favorite uncle showed me that life could be fun. He was handsome and so cool. I always wondered how I got so lucky as to be allowed to just hang around and enjoy his company.

Most of my memory makers are still with me. I am humbly grateful for that. My life would be a very different place without them.

My bestest buddy Tony is one of my favorite memory makers. He is so talented that a simple piece of wood placed in his hands becomes a true work of art. He is strong, steadfast and honorable. He also harbors a streak of mischief a mile wide. When I think of him I feel a deep sense of peace settle over me.

My husband KNOWS me and somehow manages to love me. Change isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes the passage of time simply makes everything seem sweeter, more precious. I love knowing that my back won’t ever be against the wall as long as he is with me because he is always there, standing between me and that wall. He expects me to fight my own battles because he knows I am stronger than I think I am.

I do wonder sometimes what I am leaving behind. I haven’t discovered a cure for any disease or built an empire. I have loved, deeply so. I think maybe I was given a glimpse of the way my children might remember me.

My oldest son is a party animal, meaning he can put a serious dent in the liquor cabinet (but always responsibly) and he can generally just make a fool of himself having a good time. I saw a cartoon about Jagermeister and how it changes you from being a quiet ordinary person into a dancing fool. I told my son about it knowing that no matter how much he drinks he adamantly refuses to dance, no matter how gorgeous the woman might be or how much she begs. I laughed with him about it. But then he said something that almost made me cry.

"Well that isn’t exactly true mom. I don’t dance now but I used to."

I was amazed because it is a running joke that my son is glued to any comfortable seat near the bar while everyone else is dancing.

"When have you danced?"

"Oh don’t tell me YOU don’t remember. I used to dance with YOU mom. After you cleaned the house you would put Elvis on the stereo. I would climb up on the coffee table wearing socks. You would hold out your arms and I’d lean against you and we would dance. I put a lot of miles on that table. Sometimes you would pick me up and dance around the room with me in your arms. It was nice. But yes mom. I have danced. You should feel special."

I DO feel special. He was only about 3 years old. It wasn’t anything spectacular. It was just me being silly and wanting to dance. Apparently it "stuck" because my ‘baby’ remembers it 27 years later. You never know what will be washed away with the passage of time. You definitely never know what will be tucked carefully away like a priceless treasure. Perhaps if we knew then there would be more of them. Perhaps….