What if you knew you had just a few months left to live on this earth, and in those months, you looked around at the life you’ve built–I mean really looked–at the things you’ve surrounded yourself with to give you comfort, inspiration, beauty, convenience. (In fact, look around you right now, and what do you see?) There are things you’ll want to give away to be loved and appreciated after you’re no longer here to love them and appreciate them. Some of those things are financially valuable; but others might just be personally valuable, like a really sharp and shiny pair of scissors. So, if there is someone else in the world who finds value in those same things, in those shiny scissors, then the life you’ve built must have value itself, right?
Now, I ask you, what would you give? To whom? What would you toss? How much do you surround yourself with that means nothing? How much adds true value to your life–so much so that you would want it to be owned and valued by someone else when you’re no longer here to treasure it yourself? How much of your life would you just leave behind to be pawed through, tossed, or stuffed into the back of a loved one’s drawer?
My mother made sure to give me a sharp and shiny pair of scissors before she passed, as she did a few significant pieces of jewelry, and clothing, and knickknacks. Other things she left behind for me to go through when she was no longer here–more jewelry, more clothing, more knickknacks–and tons and tons of other life detritus that she surrounded herself with but really, in the end, meant nothing.
We’re not all given the gift of a warning, of time. I’ve learned many things in the last months (and I stand to learn a great deal more, I know), but one of the most significant is this: Look around your life while you can, and decide what you value. It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but you.
Because I keep coming back to those scissors. On one of my last visits with my mother, she made certain that she gave me that tiny pair of scissors. She described how sharp they were and what they were useful for, and she instructed me on what never to cut with them (metallic threads, FYI) and on how to treat them. My mother gave me diamonds and pearls I will wear, and sweaters and boots that remind me so much of her I might never wear them. But the scissors? I think I’ll treasure them always.
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