Don't Wait Until it's Too Late

Friday night we had a Progressive Cocktail Party in our neighborhood. Sixteen people arrived at our neighbors house across the street at 6pm for savory appetizers and cranberry vodka cocktails.....and after progressing thru two more homes, ended up at the final neighbor's house at 9m for dessert and champagne....with the last guests leaving shortly before midnight.

Some of us met that night for the first time. Some knew a few others only in passing...a 'hello' as we walked past their homes, or when they walked their dogs. Some of us were more intimate....sharing dinners together in each other's homes. Ages ranged from the late 20's to the mid 60's. One couple just moved in a month ago, while we have been here for twelve years. Yet, on this evening, we were all more alike than we were different.

Our snow had pretty much melted by Thursday night, but we all awoke Friday morning with an inch of new fallen snow, that quickly turned into ice. The sixteen neighbors literally grew closer together as we walked arm-in-arm, or hand-in-hand across the icy street as we progressed from house to house.

I'm telling this story because of one person I met that night. The newest neighbor. The youngest neighbor. In a previous post of mine titled "Is my job boring, or am I boring?", I told the story of how my husband wanted to pretend to be a Motivational Speaker (like Chris Farley on SNL). He gave up that little gig when we heard that a real Motivational Speaker was moving into our neighborhood. We met him Friday night, and my husband jokingly told him about his fake job. Thank goodness, he was pretty good natured about it. After all, he is a Motivational Speaker.

But this story isn't really about him. It's about you. It's about me. It's about all of us.

Since he is so young, I wondered how this man became a Motivational Speaker. He said it all started when he was 19 years old and was in a serious car accident, with serious injuries. He eventually recovered, while the driver, his best friend, suffered damage that would alter his life forever. While my neighbor was near death, he wondered...if he died that night...would he have loved enough...mattered enough....made a difference. As he started telling his story, he was asked to give speeches, to inspire people.

Now, I might be putting words in his mouth, but what I gathered from our conversation was that he didn't want to have regrets. He wanted to matter. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to love enough and be loved enough. He didn't want to wait until it was too late.

That made me think about my dad. He grew up in a small town in Wisconsin, but moved 'out west', as he called it, to make a better life for his family. He worked for the Water Bureau, sometimes managing the reservoirs at Mt Tabor or Washington Park. I don't know if taking care of the roses was part of his job description, but that was something he always proudly showed off to us, whenever we accompanied him to work.

My dad was proud of the life he made for himself in Portland, and proud to be part of the Rose City. He came from a large family and urged his siblings to visit us. My mother's family visited often, but few came from my dad's family. He died in 1976 and is buried at Willamette National Cemetery, on a beautiful hillside overlooking the City of Roses.

About 15 years after my dad died, two of his recently widowed sisters decided to visit Portland. One of the first things they wanted to do was see his grave. My aunt, his oldest sister, looked sadly at the grave and said "All these years Wayne begged me to visit him, and I didn't. I'm so sorry that when I'm finally here, all I see is his grave".

I still tear up whenever I think of that day. At what she missed. That he missed sharing the day with her.

Don't wait until it's too late!