The faded calendar hanging over my dad’s workbench was opened to May 2006. It was sometime that month he became too sick to work on his projects any longer. He died nine days into June of that year. Up to that moment I was busy cleaning out the workshop of years of accumulated stuff. Junk mostly. Not much of it was salvageable. Then, like the scene from the movie Titanic, where the viewer is drawn from the eerie stillness of the wreckage in slumbering decay back through time to vibrant life, my thoughts drifted to happier times…
“How do you know when you are with the right girl?” I remembered asking my dad as he was bowed over his grinding wheel. I was about 16 years old and pondering the truly deep questions of life that I was sure my dad knew all about. He was wearing bibbed overalls with the cuffs rolled up to the t0p of his white socks. The face shield of his protective headgear prevented the sparks from igniting the stubble on his chin. His steady large hands rhythmically pulled the blade over the wheel. “When you can’t imagine life without her,” he replied thoughtfully without looking up from the sparking tool.
The headgear hanging on a rusty nail was now caked with dust. His gloves placed on the edge of the workbench still held the shape of his hands. His job completed for the day. I wonder if he realized he would not return to the shop he invested so many years in. The shop was his haven, his domain. The evidence was everywhere.
The dusty radio still turned on when the switch at main entrance to the shop was flipped. He always had it tuned in to a local station, 1450 AM, WLEC. The Big Band Music of his generation was always filling the air, which could barely be heard above the din of the whirling motors and screeching sounds of stone against metal. He would often get so lost in thought, creeping to close to him unexpectedly would almost launch him out of his overalls. Maybe that is why he wanted those kinds of pants with the bib. Not only did he have tools and pens tucked into the many pockets, but the shoulder straps kept his pants on when he jumped. He eventually put a bell on the door that would jingle when the door slammed shut. He still jumped.
It is amazing how moments pass without our permission. Some moments are subtle and unexpected, not like grand “Kodak moments” that my mother would capture on her Polaroid camera. In those big moments, we are caught up into something that is so much bigger than us. More often than not, most of life comes to us in the mundane as if to sneak up on us. “Sometimes these moments go unrecognized as they unfold, but their secret comes to us years later in our longing to relive them”, observed John Eldridge. We would love to go back to these times. If only we could have spent more time there. Paying attention, being present. What if I hadn’t been in the shop that day? What else would I have asked him if only I knew he w0uld someday be gone and his shop silent?
Like faded calendars and rusty tools, memories fade with time. The secret to the life we prize echoes from the past. Perfect moments whisper to our hearts, “ this is the way life is meant to be lived.” Love, life, laughter and connection, they all reflect a Beautiful Heart that knits us all together. Our desires and longings guide us to Somewhere and Someone.
Our desires unfulfilled and loved ones lost make us ache for something we may never find on this earth. Be present to this moment and make the best of it. It too will be revisited someday. Live well.
