Death is NOT the End

I’ve written recently about eternal life, and my recently deceased friend, whose funeral I will attend tomorrow.  And I’ve written about how the saints and our families in heaven are all cheering for us, that we lead the lives we were born to live, so that we can soon join them in their happiness.  And so, I guess I wasn’t surprised to be reminded of this again this week.

Yesterday was a “shredding day” in my township.  The township provided a shredder truck and invited township residents to come with up to two boxes (boxes that they could lift) with paper materials they wished shredded.  And so, I undertook this week those things I should have done many, many, MANY years ago, but which always fell somehow to the back burner of things to do.  I rustled through packed file cabinets and drawers, pulling out old check stubs, tax returns, and legal papers which have long since passed their usefulness.  I boxed them and prepared them for the shredder.  (And afterwards looked around, sadly, at all that remained to be tossed.  We all accumulate so much over the years.)

At any rate, as I piled the old papers in the boxes, I noticed a pile of old letters which I had kept, so that “one day” I might re-read and enjoy them.  “One day,” I thought as I piled them in the box --- but then I stopped.  Perhaps today should be that day.  So, I put the letters on the couch and finished packing the boxes, and later on that afternoon I sat down to read long ago thoughts of my loved ones.

The letters were from my mom, dad, sister, nieces, and even one from my mentally retarded brother.  The envelopes were all dated in the early 1980’s.  Much of the words now seemed tedious to read, thoughts about what was thought important in those days.  Dad worried about his golf game; mom wondered what she should buy for dinner.  And sis always worried about her daughters, soon to be moving out of home and on with their lives.  And reading mom’s letters, I realized that this was a good week for reading them, this week of Mother’s Day, and the month we dedicate to Mary, God’s mother.

Many of mom’s letters closed with something like “go out and enjoy dinner on me,” or “get yourself something you want,” and I remembered that mom used to always enclose money with her letters, as though I were still her young son, just starting out in the world.  I was always her little boy, I guess.

It was in one of the last letters that I re-opened that I found the $25.  A twenty and a five, with a printing dates of nearly 50 years ago.  Honestly, my first thought was wondering if these were “antiques” with some old paper value, and then I thought about the shredding day.  No, these were just old paper, like any old papers.  There might be some value, like $25, to them, but their real value was in the memories, just like these old letters.  The $25 said mom loved me, forty years ago, when I cared for her in her old age, and even today.  And I am sure she still thinks about me.

When I finished reading, I put the old letters in the boxes to be shredded.  I’m not sure what to do with the $25.  It has more meaning to me than the letters.  And I was reminded of one of the most precious memories of my mom, which I will never forget.  In those years when I cared for her needs, she sometimes didn’t remember who I was during the day, but it seemed that she always remembered, as I tucked her in at night, to say to me, with a smile: “You know that I love you.”

And I am sure she still does.  And I’ll always love her.  Some memories will last a lifetime, and an eternity.