(First published
in INKY TRAIL NEWS — Nov/Dec 2002)
I usually address some
aspect of the writing craft in this space, but this time my words are aimed
at those who don't write because they believe they have nothing to write
about. To these folks I say, “Please consider that you could be wrong.”
Here's why.
It's been said that when
an older person dies it's like burning a library. Sadly, I learned the
truth in these words as I was going through my mother’s belongings a few
weeks after her death. The wealth I found was not in stocks, bonds, or
bankbooks. No. The real wealth was in her cedar chest, a locker of
polished blond wood on gorgeous glass casters that rested at the foot of her
bed. This chest was now scratched and dented from years of use and
countless moves, but it had always held special meaning for me because it
had been my favorite hideout when playing hide-and-seek as a child. This
day as an adult I finally realized the real treasure the chest had safely
held for so many years: bundle after bundle of cards, letters, and photos.
Beneath all this in a box of its own I found Granny’s Bible, its loose,
yellowed pages and broken spine held together with a delicate loop of red
ribbon.
I found that other
concerns of my life mattered not until I had taken the time to look through
it all, an undertaking that took days but one that provided delight and
occasional surprise with each page I turned. And even though it’s been over
two decades since Mom’s passing, there are still times when I pull a
footstool up to her cedar chest and look through it all again. My pleasure
in doing so never wanes, but, unfortunately, each time I revisit this cache
of memories I depart with the same confused feeling as having just read a
book with missing pages.
You see only a small
portion of the items in Mom’s cedar chest held full meaning for me. These
items, of course, were things that related to the years after my birth. And
while I knew the other items most certainly held special meaning for Mom,
she had failed to include any writing with them that would have made these
items meaningful to someone else. Yes, I wanted more. I wanted to know all
about the ones mentioned in the cards and letters and of those who were
smiling back at me from the photos. Who were these people and what part or
place had they held in Mom’s life?
Mom had saved a few of
Granny’s things but they, too, offered only a glimpse of her life and
times. The richest piece of writing was a short journal Granny had kept as
a young woman. One part chronicled her family’s move from Kentucky to
Florida in 1889, a three-month trip in a wagon pulled by a pair of mules
named Horace and Abigail.
Now let’s step back to my
earlier statement aimed at those of you who do not write because you believe
you have nothing to write about. If you’ve now changed your mind, and I
hope you have, spend some time in that special place where you save cards,
letters, and photos. Your goal should be to make these items meaningful to
those who will someday look through them. Yes, this will take some time and
some writing, but it’s effort I believe to be more valuable than all the
Best-Sellers in New York.
Now here’s the payoff.
Something is going to happen as you complete this writing task. Memories
will pop up. Many will fit the theme of the magazine you are holding.
Please consider sharing them. And don’t worry about not being a famous
author, just write in the same way you’d share an experience with a good
friend. Friendship, after all, is what this magazine is all about.
In conclusion consider
that our coming into this world is accompanied by only one certainty--the
certainty of our leaving it one day. The good news is we do not have
to allow our library to burn at our passing, not if we’ve taken the time to
leave a bit of ourselves in our writing.
