A Story To Live By

By Ann Wells (Los Angeles Times) 
 
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
savour, not endure. I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish
them. I'm not "saving" anything; we use our good china and crystal for
every special event such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped,
the first camellia blossom. I wear my good blazer to the market if I like
it. My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one
small bag of groceries without wincing. I'm not saving my good perfume for
special parties; clerks in hardware
stores and tellers in banks have noses that function as well as my
partygoing friends. "Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their
grip on my vocabulary. If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to
see and hear and do it now.

I'm not sure what my sister would've done had she known that she
wouldn't be here for the tomorrow we all take for granted. I think
she would have called family members and a few close friends. She might
have called a few former friends to apologize and mend fences or past
squabbles. I like to think she would have gone out for a Chinese dinner,
her favorite food. I'm guessing - I'll never know. It's those little
things left undone that would make me angry if I knew that my hours were
limited. Angry because I put off seeing good friends whom I was going to
get in touch with - someday. Angry because I hadn't written certain
letters that I intended to
write - one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my husband
and daughter often enough how much I truly love them. I'm trying very hard
not to put off, hold back, or save anything
that would add laughter and luster to our lives. And every morning when I
open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute,
every breath truly is... a gift from God.