— My dad loved to “tinker,” in his garage, fixing things that once might have been thought to be useless. He enjoyed the art of finding more efficient ways to perform difficult tasks, and he loved organizing his tools, hardware, nails, screws, and bolts, most of which he kept in lidless mason jars.
One day, he brought me into the garage to see a wooden bunny he had created on his jigsaw. He replicated it after one he had purchased from a local craft fair. He had sanded the wood and painted it just like the bunny from the fair and had coated it with varnish to make it shine. Being young, I didn’t realize the importance of what was about to transpire over the next few minutes. Dad showed me how he was able to carefully cut the bunny from a plain piece of wood and how he had attempted to match the professionally crafted bunny, perfectly. He explained the method he used to paint the bunny, and how he had even included a ribbon for its neck, just like the original. He was so proud of his work, I didn’t realize he had found a new talent and would likely craft many more bunnies for the family. “Which of the two bunnies would you like to have?” He asked me, smiling.
To this day, I regret my response. I answered the way a child would, yet I find little solace in this fact. “I’ll take the original bunny.” The original was perfect, the paint was done with exact precision, the ribbon was bright, and the bunny face was very realistic. realistic. Dad’s is great, just not quite as perfect, I want the perfect one, I remember thinking. Dad handed me the original bunny, smiling, “Here you go, honey,” he said without the slightest hint of remorse. But he never made another wooden bunny.
Looking back, I think my actions took the wind out of his sails. Years later, after my father had died and I had matured quite a bit, I found the original bunny in a box. In that moment, I realized that I would give anything to have the bunny my dad had crafted that day in our garage. The original bunny just looked cold and sterile with no character, no life, no twisted ribbon or glamorous paint job.
I searched for my dad’s bunny, but never found it. Even today, the original sterile bunny sits on my dresser, not because I like it, but as a reminder to love what those around me make and do for me, even in their imperfections. I’ve learned that it’s the imperfections that make those things perfect.
— The morning after my father passed, my mom sent my husband, Keith, and me to the funeral home with specific instructions, “Give the funeral home director Dad’s favorite blue suit and his beautiful dress shoes, but in the coffin have them put his favorite and most comfortable slippers,” she said as she gently handed them to me.
I thought, perhaps, since Dad died of cancer, his feet may have been swollen and his shoes might not fit properly, but I was curious as to the actual reason she wanted him to have both. When I presented the clothes and two pairs of shoes to the funeral director, he was not at all surprised. He nodded and said there would be no problem. When I returned home, I asked Mom why she had sent two pair of shoes for my father.
Whenever something unexplainable would happen, or an unpleasant event would occur, like when a child would become ill, my mom would always say, “Put comfortable shoes in my coffin!” I always wondered what she meant. On this day she explained.
She had always believed when you die, you walk the “last mile,” with your maker and discuss with him the times you separated yourself from him. She believed you were accountable for those times, and in that last mile you were also shown the light and understanding of events from your past. Mom believed you could talk to God and ask him about events in your life, why people died, and even, why sometimes it appeared as if we were abandoned by God. She knew it was then, that you would gain a deeper understanding of God’s plan. In her mind, she expected that my father may have to walk the last mile, and she wanted him to have the most comfortable shoes for his journey into paradise.
Mom has many questions for God and believes her walk will be long as a result. She has asked her children to place comfortable shoes in her coffin one day, and by doing so, we will be guaranteeing her a comfortable walk on her inquisitive and anticipated last mile. Sometimes things may not make sense to us now, but in God’s time, she knows they will. So, to my children, in the hopefully very far future, please, put comfortable shoes in my coffin, too.
— Mom would always tell us, get dressed every morning, put on your lipstick, and comb your hair. After my father passed in 1992, we were hopeful Mom would continue this practice; thankfully, she did. Every day she takes a bath, puts on her lipstick, and brushes her hair. These little things have helped keep Mom in her daily routine, which has helped to keep her blood pressure in check.
The daily bath is her decompression time. She thinks and plans her day, while she soaks in her tub. She comes out refreshed and ready for the world. People often ask my mom, “How are you still alive at ninety-eight years old?” She corrects them by saying, “I am ninety-eight years young.” To Mom, attitude is everything. She believes she can, so she can.
Dale Carnegie teaches to live by the three “C”s. Mom has adopted this mantra. “I make sure I never criticize, condemn, or complain,” she says proudly. “Well, I try not to,” she adds while smiling. My children, her other grandchildren, and her great-grandchildren witness her example and they too choose to live by the three “C”s. Mom believes you live by the three “C”s for others, not just yourself.
One afternoon, we went to renew Mom’s driver’s license and they asked her if she wanted to be an organ donor. “If I can do one last thing to help someone else, so be it,” she responded. “Yes, sign me up,” she replied cheerfully! She is always giving, always thinking of others.
Attitude is the backbone, the baseline, the foundation, from which everything else is measured. Mom always believes everything will be okay. “I am in greater hands than my own.” Attitude means mind set and outlook. Our attitude is based on our experiences, our appreciation, and the lessons we take from these experiences. Everyone’s experiences are different, yet everyone’s attitude is a reflection of their personal resolution of the circumstances which surround them. My father always said, “The pessimist curses the wind, the optimist, hopes the wind will change, and the realist adjusts her sails.” My mother’s attitude is not one of cursing, not one of wishing, but one of action, resulting in sheer delight.
