My Sad Story

Every year at school, when it gets to be Easter time, I tell my kids "my sad story."  I preface with the fact that it is sad - so sad, in fact, that I may cry in the telling.  I will definitely cry in the writing.

I told it something like this:

"Easter is one of my favorite times of year because my entire family, like, all 150 of us, get together at my great-aunt's house.  We do all the normal Easter stuff - Easter egg hunt, egg toss, marshmallow fight, you know." They look confused, and a few kids even said, "Uh, Mrs. Stones, I don't think anything is normal about a marshmallow fight."  I guess I can see how that might be true.  But we do, and it's awesome.

I continue: "It's one of my favorite family times all year long.  Of course, the first thing we always did was find my great-grandma and give her a hug, right?  How many of you guys do that first thing when you arrive at a family gathering?" Three-quarters of the hands went up in the air.  I'm glad to see that.  I tell them, it's about to get sad, people.

"When I was a junior, I had just turned 16, which of course means I had just gotten my license.  When I hugged my great-grandma, she said to me, 'Randi, I know you just turned 16 and you can drive now.  Why haven't you been out to see me?'  The honest answer?  I was 16.  I wanted to hang out with my friends.  I wanted to go shopping.  I wanted to do things that didn't matter.  I was 16.  I don't remember what I said, but she responded with 'You need to come out and see me.'  I responded with 'Okay, Grandma, I will.  I promise.'

"I promise.  That was in April.  Guess what happened in June?"

There was a small pause in each class before one or two kids responded with:
"She died."

"Yes.  She died.  Guess what I did not do?"

Pause.  "Go see her."

"That's right.  I didn't go see her because I was young and selfish and I didn't care enough.  And now, I can never ever ever get that moment back."

By now, in most of my classes, I am in tears, and several of my kids are as well.  A few even wiped their eyes.

"So, if you would, could you please do me a personal favor this weekend?  It's Easter.  How many of you will see an elderly realative of some sort?"

Three-quarters of the hands went up again.

"Please, please, please take some time, even if it's just five or ten minutes, and sit down and spend time with that person.  I know sometimes it doesn't feel like fun, and sometimes you'd rather be playing outside or running around with your cousins, but someday, they won't be there.  You won't see them at family gatherings or be able to hop in the car or pick up the phone.  They will be gone.  I know it's hard to understand that at this age, but look at me?  I'm crying in front of all of you today because I wish I had done it differently.  Please just trust me on this - if you don't do it now, there will come a day when you wish you had.  There is no way for me to correct my mistake, but if you learn from it, maybe you can avoid a similar story.  It doesn't fix my problem, or make me regret my actions any less, but it does help to know that perhaps you might not repeat my mistake. Can you do this for me?"

A chorus of head-nods.  I hope so.  The kids packed up, we went to the library, and I sent them on their way.

I'm blessed in many ways, and one of them is that there are truly very few things in my life that I regret.  This is one of the huge ones.  I wish I could turn back the clock, drive my beat-up '95 Buick Century down Auburn Road, pull into my great-grandmother's cracked driveway, step on to the hand-woven rug, get an ice-cold tea in the plastic textured cup, complete with ice from the way old-fashioned ice tray that you had to crack with the crank, and sit on the faded couch and visit with my great-grandmother for hours.  I wish I had asked about being a mom to six girls.  I wish I had asked about what the Great Depression was like.  I wish I had asked about my grandmother.  I wish I had asked about my dad and my uncles when they were little.  And I wish I had asked her about how she fell in love with my great-grandpa.


Life is full of stuff and things.  Some are important and some aren't.  Take time to do the things that matter.  Forget the things that don't.