I’m frankly pretty impressed at the notes he wrote. I’m also reminded of this apparent family flaw that puts so much effort into stuff we never quite finish. Perhaps he gave those notes to us to address and mail. Who knows? Even if I wanted to mail them now at least one of the people has an address somewhere in Heaven.
I also had, until very recently, a hefty stack of unsent thank you cards from way back when Dave finished his tenure as mayor of Farmington. Our remarkable and thoughtful neighbors went together and purchased a flagpole for our front yard. We came home from vacation that summer to a crisp new American flag waving in the east wind in front of our home. It was a surprise, and really very tender and moving to us. I designed and printed some small cards with American flags on them. That next month my mother ended up in the hospital for quite a while. I remember sitting at her bedside writing heartfelt sentiments to these kind neighbors on those cards. I addressed and even stamped them.
It’s been so long now I threw them away, offering a prayer of apology, hoping the Powers that be would one day reiterate our gratitude to them. Our neighbors never knew how very much their gift has meant to us.
I recall another time, when our Kate was a newborn baby. Dave’s Grandma Roy had been in the hospital. I thought I should call a florist in Florida and send flowers, so she would know we were thinking of her and we loved and cherished her. Day turned to night then to day, and night and so on… until we got the call that Grandma Roy had passed away. I remember sitting in my rocking chair nursing little Kate, my tears dropping on her baby blanket. My feelings spilled into words. Wrangled into a poem. “The Flowers I Never Sent”. It alluded to the fact that I had intended to send flowers when she was alive, but now was calling the florist to send them for her grave. I’ve lost the poem, but not the pang of sadness.
I have learned to try to be more gentle with myself. I discovered late in life that I have a brain with attention issues. Guilt over that weakness is a poor motivator. I’ve found love to be more effective. I now speak in gentler terms to myself. Still, while the words I choose in my self-talk are more encouraging, they nonetheless whisper that I should finish my tasks. Push through all the way to the end. I have a dreadfully strong mechanism that urges me to stop just before something is complete. So many unfinished songs!
My advice for the day is to complete something all the way through. Get that card in the mail. Hem those pants that have been sitting in your closet for a year. Eat that chocolate you're storing in the pantry.
