[quote]TheBodyGuard wrote:
[quote]ephrem wrote:
[quote]TheBodyGuard wrote:
A detachment to the “material world” occurred for me in a very personal way when my grandmother died. I can share the story if you’d like. The lesson was life changing, and it had nothing to do with the actual death. [/quote]
Please do.[/quote]
The Reader’s Digest version is as follows:
My grandparents lived in a very small town in MA, one of the many small towns built around the textile industry of their time, and that town became smaller still when those businesses shrank and disappeared. They were married for over 50 years. Lived in the same house. Never owned a car. Went to Church and did banking and such every weekend by cab. Groceries and milk delivered. Lived on Social Security when I was in elementary school and visited every summer. Scrounged all year long to save maybe $40 in addition to the $$ my parents gave when I spent the summer so I’d have a little extra for entertainment and such. Lived a very modest life is the picture I’m painting.
I’m in my early 30’s when my grandmother passed. Grandfather had passed years earlier. At the funeral and after, I was inconsolable. She was like my mother. Here I was, in the middle of my then career, chasing an office, a title, the next promotion, the salary, the next car, the next “shiny object”. In fact, it was my toxic job that I left in a panic and raced 3 hours breaking every traffic law imaginable to make it to her deathbed right before she passed. I made it by no more than 20 minutes before she took her last breath.
I was making more money at the time than they ever made in their lives. I could literally lose that $40-50 they scrounged all year long to save for my benefit as a kid (a sacrafice I didn’t fully appreciate until that moment) and not even know it was gone out of my pocket. I never even bothered to balance my checkbook and they saved every nickel. I drove a flashy BMW M3. I had all the trappings of “being on the rise”. And as I looked around the house after the funeral, it was filled with so many people from all over town, including family, that just loved my grandmother. People I had never met, but knew of me, her grandson. And in that instant, I realized she was indeed “rich”, and it was I who was “poor”. She married and buried her husband in that modest home. Never brought any shame to herself or her family. Raised a son and daughter. And hosted a beloved grandson every summer, in spite of the financial strain. They had nothing, but never told me no.
I had an epiphany that day…a “what the fuck am I chasing?” moment that forever changed me and I shared my thoughts with my uncle, and he agreed. By any reasonable measure of wealth, they were “poor”. The house, although paid for, was modest - it seemed so much larger when I was a kid. When she passed, there was very little, if any savings. The only asset was the house and it’s contents. And the memories.
I didn’t stop “chasing” that day. I’m competitive, it’s my nature. But from that moment forward, material things - car, size of house, whatever, didn’t mean shit to me. From that point forward, I considered major purchases carefully, to make sure my heart wanted it, and not my ego. I don’t live in a small town like they did, and cultivating the kind of relationships she had is a difficult thing to do in our modern world. But it made me appreciate those in my life more. And to value those relationships fully.
I went back to that house last year. It’s empty now. For sale. I looked through the windows and reminisced…and shed some tears. Even thinking of her now, after all these years, brings a tear, a sniffle, a quivering lip and a deep breath or three. I went to the backyard where I used to practice “pitching” rocks against a rock wall some of those summers. That rock wall was now walled off with landscaping railroad ties. I reached behind, and took a rock from that wall that I keep with me at my home…a piece of my real “home”. I’d take the whole house with me if I could.
There are many “McMansions” in our world today, but very few “homes”.
That’s my story. [/quote]
Thank you very much for sharing that, BG, sincerely.
I tried typing something in response but kept deleting and starting over.
I need to stop and think for a bit.