I have a box in my basement marked “Ann’s keepsakes,” filled with things that are special to me. Anyone else would probably consider it a box full of worthless odds and ends, and wonder why in the world I’m saving it. The battered stuffed pony, the cheap ring with an artificial emerald, the red dog collar, the purple lace ribbon and all the rest of the contents have no real value at all. But to me, every single item in that box is special.
The stuffed pony was my favorite childhood toy and almost constant companion…it’s no wonder he looks so well-worn. The “emerald” ring was a graduation gift from my grandmother, passed on to me because we both had May birthdays. The dog collar belonged to Genny, the first dog who was my very own and not a family pet. And the ribbon was a gift from a good friend’s mother, who made it to cheer me up after I came in last place in my heat during a Junior High track meet. (Lots of people have ribbons for winning races, but I bet I’m the only one who has a last place ribbon.)
I think it’s normal to hang onto to the things we treasure and to the people we love. We want to keep what, and who, we value in our lives. But the problem is that there is so much that we can’t hang on to, no matter how hard we try.
One of my very first “blogging friends” was a woman from Australia, who wrote a great blog about the trials and joys of farming there. She read every one of my posts and never failed to leave an encouraging comment. But one day she blogged about an upcoming surgery, and that was the last I ever heard of her. I still have no idea if she simply dropped out of the blogging world, or if the surgery went horribly wrong. And I doubt very much that I will ever know.
Life is full of losses, both large and small. Favorite restaurants close, neighborhood friends move away, treasured family traditions come to an end. And if you’re like me, you sometimes try a bit too hard to hang on to what is slipping away or even already gone. It’s hard to lose the things and people we value, but sometimes don’t have much choice.
And so I keep my little box of keepsakes, stored away on my basement shelf. I don’t get it out very often, as most days I’m too busy dealing with the stuff that is happening in my life right here and now. But every once in a while I add something to it, when I find myself facing yet another loss and want to save a little something to remind myself of a gift I once had.
In a way, I suppose, that’s the real purpose of my keepsakes. They represent the good memories that are mine forever, even when the actual people and things are gone. The influence of the past has helped shape who I am now, which means that those memories are a very real part of me and always will be. And knowing that makes it just a little bit easier when the time comes to “let go.”
We were sure that last year would be our dog Lucy’s very last Christmas. She was fifteen years old, and had survived a couple of serious health issues. Signs of her aging were obvious: stiffness in her joints, hearing loss, and worst of all, a digestive system that obviously could no longer handle the variety of “food” she still found and insisted on eating. Lucy had been part of our family for over fourteen years, so our Christmas morning was a little bittersweet as all photographed and video-taped what we thought would be the last time she would ever help us open presents.
I’ve never been very good at saying goodbye, especially to someone I really like. So when I heard that one of my very favorite staff members at the animal shelter where I volunteer was planning to retire this month, I didn’t react well.
Fall has come a bit late to my corner of the world this year, but it has finally arrived. And that means I’m spending time trimming back some bushes, storing away the pots that I use for my annual flowers, and washing my windows one last time before the temperatures plummet. Inside, I’m doing some hard-core house cleaning in preparation for the Christmas decorations I know I’ll be putting up next month.
My daughter is expecting our first grandchild in early January, and with each passing week, what was once only an abstract joy has become that much more real. Seeing her opening gifts at her baby showers, surrounded by family and friends who have turned out to offer their love and support is both comforting and humbling. I still have no idea just exactly what being a grandparent will mean, but I’m anxious to find out.
There’s so much more I could say on this subject, but I don’t have the time. My 87-year old mother is having problems opening her emails, and I have to go over to her house and figure out just what she is doing wrong…..
This morning I was down at the animal shelter where I volunteer, getting ready to take a dog on its walk, when another volunteer turned to me and said, “That dog is kind of hard to get leashed up. Do you want me to help you?” I didn’t say it out loud, but my first reaction was, “Seriously? You want to help me?”
Still, there is nothing I can do but accept the changes that are happening in, and to, my body. I may still be young in spirit….and hope that I always will be….but I am no longer quite so young in body, and that means that I have to remember to cut myself some slack. I need to pay attention to my physical limits these days, and be willing to ask for help when I need it. I also need to be strong enough to graciously accept help when it’s offered, even those times when I didn’t ask for it. Because the time is coming, slowly but inevitably, when the only shelter dogs I’ll be walking are the chihuahuas.