| There is a story that has been forwarded over the internet and by chance I came across it one day . . . it�s a poem about someone who has put off visiting his friend, Jim, and then he finds out Jim is dead, and he never got to call on him while his chances passed by. In a sense, my case is similar. One Christmas I planned on giving both of my uncles something to use for a grocery list with cloth, notepads, and a pack of pens . . . I made one, but the other I planned on finishing later. Months and months passed, but no progress came. During the next summer, the uncle still unknowingly awaiting the gift had to go to the hospital. Weeks later, he was transferred to the local hospital and remained there for months. Our visits became frequent during the summer, then lessened during the school year. But we did see him and I came to him at every opportunity to swing by, with on exception. On account of my laziness and lack of interest, I missed my last chance to see him. I don�t believe I�ll ever grant forgiveness to myself for it, but the pain does ease when I remember the many times I did go when my brother said no with the reflection of a �strategy game� on his face and his eyes locked on the computer. But I certainly regret my actions of putting off the present and visiting him whenever I pass my constantly open door with a pack of pens that should have gone to the dead uncle that distant Christmas before he died, even lacking the cloth or notepad. And at times when my mother openly recalls the times spent with him, I go to my room and cherish the pens as if they were his and they become worth more than any value money can possess. The pack of pens remind me of many simple lessons, including the fact that many things, including people, do not live forever and with our limited time, we should hold our family and friends dear while we can. |