A neighbor of ours was murdered some years back, which is, in and of itself, a frightening and rather disconcerting event. We live in a quiet subdivision, a place where the most excitement is either an emergency illness or a domestic disturbance. Our illusion of peace and safety was shattered that day, and now we know, we’re all at risk. We always have been.
That, however, is not my point. A few weeks after this tragedy occurred, and the initial investigation and forensics completed, his estranged wife was allowed back into the house. She began the process of cleaning it out, in preparation of moving back in. She garnered help from friends, bagged things up, ripped out carpet, perused papers, and sifted through all the stuff one accumulates over long periods of time. A tough task in the hot and humid Florida climate for sure, ending with about 15, 40-gallon black plastic trash bags, rolled carpet, a recliner and sofa that had surely seen better days, and some old plastic lawn chairs, stacked curbside, awaiting the next trash truck.
While walking my dog the morning before pick up, I looked at the bags of trash, and it occurred to me that what I was seeing were the remnants of this man’s life, sitting on the curb. This is what it all comes down to. Trash bags on the curb. A lifetime of memories. A lifetime of things saved, collected, treasured, stored, stashed, and often simply set aside and forgotten about. A lifetime, sifted through, broken down, wrapped up, bagged up, and set outside to await its inevitable outcome: a trip to the local landfill and its final resting place.
People die every day, most not as horribly as being murdered in one’s own home, but death, ultimately, is death. And regardless of means, the finality of a life lived often ends in the local landfill. Although yes, some treasures will be kept and held on to by family members and friends, but in another generation, or simply in the event of another death, they, too, will find their way into a black plastic trash bag, and on to the landfill.
As one of my favorite accounting teachers from years past said so eloquently, “It does not matter. In the end, we are all dead.” If I take anything away from this, it is that tomorrow is promised to no one, and we do need to realize that everything is transitory, including our treasures. Live in the moment. Keep it light. Judge less. Love more. Be compassionate. We really need to live our lives with as much joy and happiness as possible, and share that love of life with others. Because, with the exception of all the stuff we leave behind for someone to bag up and throw out, this is the only real legacy we leave – the giving of ourselves. It is all we have to give, and it should be our very reason for living.
~jwb~
Putting things in perspective for sure.