Each Day Is A Gift

My husband and I attended a graveside service for a tiny baby born to our friends. I remember standing silently at the freshly dug grave with other family members and friends when the limousine drove up. When the funeral-home operator opened the long car door, we saw our friends inside. The new father was gently cradling the tiny coffin on his lap. The new mother, only a few days from a hard delivery and birth, sat motionless - her face white and still, her eyes red and tired. This was their first child, a son. Our friends were two gentle, quiet, sensitive people we’d known in high school. They’d waited a long time for this baby. It was a simple graveside service. The wind was icy cold as our friends slipped their arms around each other so tightly their knuckles went white. Together, they quietly and graciously acknowledged each condolence, reserving their grief for solitude. I left that service with an urgency to thank God for the gift of my children.

Funerals and cemeteries remind us that life is fragile; each day is a gift. The older I get and the more funerals I attend, the more I realize how few people really care when someone dies. Without a close family and friends, one passing life doesn’t seem to create that much interest.

I am slowly learning what it means to live and love so that those around me will become heart of my heart and soul of my soul. What I desire most in this life is that those around me know I love them.

Life has taught me that love only fails me when I don’t give it. Sharing my love - whether or not it is returned - always fills me with peace and joy.

All real joy is in the moment. All true peace is in us. When we choose to love we experience a piece of heaven right here on earth.