I probably think about my mortality more than most. Maybe not, I don’t really know.
I had cause to think about it yesterday evening. I was arranging flowers for decoration where my late husband and his family are buried.
I made baskets for him, my in-laws, his grandparents.
Now, I don’t know how it is where you are but in the Southern United States, decorations are a real thing. Churches plan dinners around them, families plan reunions around them. It is a thing.
While I was putting together these arrangements, I wondered if anyone would care enough about me, when I no longer walk this planet to do this for me.
In my heart, I don’t think they will.
I don’t have children, no spouse, my sister and her family they don’t do the decoration thing. So I wonder, if my grave will ever have flowers put on it.
There are times I honestly wonder if people will notice when I am gone.
I guess I think about this more than most because I see what my name looks like carved in stone. I see my birth date and the dash. The only thing to be carved on this block of stone is the day I stop breathing. The date that my heart quits beating and I move out of this mortal dwelling I now live in.
These people, whose graves I will place these flowers on, left a legacy. My mother-in-law, who lost her husband when she had a nine year old son, taught me things.
My late husband taught me so much. He taught me patience in the tough places. He taught me that love is unconditional. He loved me no matter what. Now, I am not saying loving me was easy. I knew when I did the wrong thing. He would silently sit and wait for me to figure it out. There were a lot of personal conversations that took place between us that the world never will know. They don’t need to. He was a man of honor. He was a man who walked what he talked and he loved me for just who I was. To him I was the most beautiful creature who ever drew breath.
I loved him for the person he was. He was not athletic, he was not a college professor, he was just who he was. He was the person who turned down a college scholarship to stay home with his mother because she was losing her eyesight and as her only means of support, he went to work. He never stopped working multiple jobs until sickness required he stop.
I have a story to tell. I try to do that partially through this blog, through photography because sometimes words can’t tell how you truly feel. There are times images can tell your story far better than your words. I, at some point soon, want to take my story on the road, as a professional storyteller.
I was talking to my person about this just this morning. I was posed a question that I thought I knew the answer to but now….
The question was “Are you afraid that if you tell your story to others then it won’t be just your story anymore”?
My answer was, that is the very nature of a story. I take stories and put my spin on them all the time. Which is true, but maybe sharing this story with others, the story of how I had to learn how to fly again with others who may need to hear that there can be life and love after loss, that you can fly again even when you think you have forgotten how….well maybe that is my legacy. The question now is, am I willing to give the story wings to fly on it’s own???
Maybe my legacy is to tell the world that you can move forward. That you can have your heart be happy again even though it was once shattered into a million pieces. You don’t give up. You fight back when life tells you that your story is over. You love again. You live again. You embrace change or you let it choke you to death. Isn’t that all part of living???