The Gift
After speaking with you the other day, I had a sense that you were searching for a direction. It was obvious that the recent events in your life have been discouraging and you are feeling overwhelmed. At times like these, even the comforting words of others may fail to break through the pain. Having spent time myself where you are right now, I felt I needed to share with you the story of my first night at Galin House. I wrote this story during the early morning hours of the next day, so I would never forget what I felt and how it changed my life. Of course, I have taken artistic liberties to make the story interesting, but the facts, the feelings, the sensations and the events are real.
The branch of the ancient maple scratched against the side of the house, as the wind persisted. The last of the maple leaves had weeks before fallen to the ground and now tumbled about in the gusting currents of air sounding like rain as they hit against the windows. The wind added to the uncomfortable eeriness that seemed to chill the air and give evil dimension to every creek and groan of the old house. I shivered under the covers and pulled them close around me.
As hard as I tried, I could not slow my brain sufficiently to allow for sleep. So much had been happening in my life, I was overwhelmed with trying to sort through my feelings and decide what I should do next. Since my ability to cope was limited, I had already decided to sell the old house and the realtor was due out the next day. She even arranged for an estate agent to purchase everything left in the house, even the bed in which I was trying to sleep. Everything left of my aunt would disappear from my life with the stroke of my signature. I looked up at the aging ceiling and watched the light of the fireplace dance across the cracks and water stains. As my eyes followed the jagged path of the crack that stretched nearly corner to corner above the bed, I heard what sounded like a stair creak. My body went still, my heart fluttered and my senses jumped to attention. It became difficult to hear over my heartbeat, as it pounded in my ears. I sat up slowly, watching the door. I couldn’t be sure if the doorknob moved or it was just the shifting of the firelight making it appear so.
My hand found the candlestick on the nightstand and I waited. Minutes passed and there was no further movement or sound. I sat on the side of the bed, trying to steel my nerves enough to walk to the door. With my flashlight and the heavy candlestick as companions, I crossed the room to the door. I stood and listened for any hint of what might wait on the other side.
My ears perceived only noises brought by the wind. I wet my lips and swallowed hard as my hand reached for the tarnished brass knob of the heavy oak door. Turning the knob slowly, I heard the latch disengage. I held my breath as I eased the door open onto the dark hallway. As the flashlight revealed nothing in the near vicinity, I ventured forth into the hall and toward the stairs. The fire in the living room was dying and shed small light into the hall and onto the base of the stairs. A sound from the kitchen caused me to step back from the stairs into the dark shadows. Something glass had fallen, or been dropped. I stood motionless and silent, again, waiting. There was a fluttering and rustling sound. I found myself wondering why I decided to stay here-alone. What moment of insanity sent me fifty miles from the nearest town with a cellular phone that couldn’t pick up a signal and never a thought to my personal safety?
Aunt Hanna had been a stranger to me her last ten years of life. Since her husband’s death she’d cut herself off from the family. Why she left me the house was as yet a mystery. The house was very different from what I remembered as a child. The once abundantly fragrant gardens were overgrown and weed choked. The well-manicured lawn had grown wild and seedy. The floral wallpaper once bright and gay was peeling from the wall, yellow, cracked, and musty. The house appeared to have given up on life, as had Aunt Hanna. I wondered if, somehow, over the space of distance and time Aunt Hanna knew I stood on the brink of my own oblivion. I too, it seemed, had given up on life. The death of my parents, the loss of my unborn child and my impending divorce, all within a short span of months, overloaded my previously dauntless spirit and had me questioning why my life should continue.
I was suddenly filled with the sense that there was nothing left to hurt me, an epiphany of sorts. Straightening my back, I headed to the kitchen. The noises had ceased and the room was dark. As I moved the flashlight over the interior, I could see nothing, save the slight flutter of the curtain over the sink window. I approached the window and found a broken pane. The branch just outside the window had been driven into the glass by the frenetic wind. In the sink was an old blue Mason jar cracked open by the fall. Dozens of folded pieces of paper fluttered amongst the bits of glass. There was also a small blue envelope. I pulled it from the sink to examine it. The envelope was sealed. As I turned it over I was surprised to see my name printed neatly on the front. I opened the envelope, unfolded the rose scented piece of writing paper and read.
“Dear Gwen, This is my jar of regrets. Over the years, since George’s death, I have been placing my regrets here. I’m not sure just why I began this process, yet I know now it shall have a purpose. Since George’s death, I find I have lived my life dwelling in the past, mourning over my losses and those things I have never done. Now that I realize the effect of this so-called living, it is too late. I am dying and there are few things in my life that will change. But knowing this and in knowing of you, I leave you these gifts-all that I have left of earthly possessions and all my regrets. You now have the chance I never took for myself. A chance to build and live the life that brings you joy-a life without regrets. Live not in the yesterday for it is gone. Live not in the tomorrow for it may never come. Live in the now for it is all there is. Love Hanna.”
I refolded the note and placed it on the counter. Gathering the many bits of paper from the sink, I slid to the floor and sat reading my Aunt’s regrets. There were so many I found dawn breaking as I finished the last of them. Some made me smile and some brought tears to my eyes. I found my Aunt had dreams and aspirations, desires and needs. She was human, fallible and fearful-yet at moments right and courageous. She and I were not that different. Tucking the regrets into the pocket of my robe, I stepped out onto the front porch and watched as the cool fall sun rose above the distant pines. I looked out into the overgrown garden and envisioned it once more vibrant and alive with color. That was the moment when I understood my aunt’s bequeath. She’d given me back my life, not just my life, but a better life-a life of living every day.
To this day I wonder what fate or spirit drove the wind that night and pushed me to my discovery. Would I ever have found my blessing without it? Would my own self-absorption and melancholy have let it pass me by? Would the blue mason jar have ended up in a box at the auction and never have fulfilled its promise? Whatever the cause, the darkness and fear that filled me to overflowing the night before vanished with the sunrise. I can only be grateful for that small miracle that has brought me many more.
Life is rarely perfect. There are always bad things and bad moments, yet I know them now, solely as points of comparison. How can I truly feel joy for the good things and good moments, if I have no contrast? The bad things and bad moments are survivable, provided you do not surrender to them. I send you this story, my aunt’s regrets and a picture of my husband, our two children and me standing in the garden as it is today. I send you these things because I know the crossroad where you now stand. I stood at the same crossing. My aunt gave me such a wonderful gift. I now offer that gift to you. I hope these things will help you in choosing your path, as they helped me find mine.
Your friend always,
Morgan
