They say that just before you die your life flashes before your eyes. I’m not sure how anyone knows this and still had time to tell anyone. I’d be so wrapped up in the show that I’d be speechless. Let’s just say it’s true and go from there.
I got wondering the other day if the flashing happens all at once or in bits and pieces leading up to it because I have recently been having very clear memories of different parts of my childhood for no apparent reason — unless it had something to do with All Saints’ Day.
A few weeks ago we had been asked by our minister to give names of anyone we’ve lost recently and my mind went blank. But then the memories started. All kinds, at varying ages. One in particular was of my mother. My class was having a party in the school gym and my mom was one of the helpers. I was at least 9 years old because my little sisters had to be in kindergarten or else Mom wouldn’t have had the time to help.
I was so excited about Mom coming to my school and I asked her if I could pick out what she wore and reached for the white dress with the tiny pink roses on it that she often wore. It had a same cloth belt that cinched her waistline, making her look like the moms on television.
“Oh honey, that dress is too old and worn,” she’d said, and showed me up close how the fabric was thinned out in places and that the pink roses were originally red. Considering it was the same dress she was wearing when she hauled me off to the police station for not saying “please” five years previous, I guess she was right. She promised to wear something nice, which she did. A beige wool skirt and a dark brown pullover sweater with three-quarter length sleeves.
I pointed her out to all of my friends at that party. I’m not sure why I was so happy but I think it was because I had her all to myself that day.
After listening to the sermon on All Saints’ Sunday I think I know why Mom came to mind. The minister said the definition of a saint was someone who makes your Christian life easier. My mom must be a saint. She made darn sure we all went to church and I can’t even imagine what my view on life would be without that.
Then there’s my older sister, who will probably wear a crown of gold so heavy she might not be able to walk in heaven. She has made it her life’s mission to guide people in their faith. She might also be the reason I have death on my mind. She has already planned and paid for her funeral. She is cleaning out, giving things that mean a lot to her to people who would also hold these dear.
It’s stirring something in me. In three years I will be 70. That’s old — at least in my mind it is. I don’t feel old. I don’t even particularly look that old but it’s coming, and like my older sister, I need to prepare for it.
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