Seek memories over material possessions
You know that I love you – no matter what.
That “things” and “stuff” don’t matter one single jot.
But every now and then it’s great to receive
that very special something that screams “I believe”
I believe in you my lovely, and hope this will help
with a lifetime of dreams, and to be your true self.
These are important to have front and centre
as you deal with life, and all its adventure.
But why wait? Let us begin this journey at once my dear
First stop, to the lowermost stair and a box that says “open me here”.
≥≥≥
This was the start of a poem I wrote guiding my birthday boy through a treasure hunt of rhyming clues that uncovered a very special gift. These lines are my real present, not what I bought. Wishing him a lifetime of dreams that he does something about, and by default being true to himself. I hope my words are a reminder when he loses sight of this – lest he one day lament a life wasted.
This is me preparing my young ones for life, especially when I am no longer here.
I went for a walk in a cemetery today as a reminder of how vulnerable and fleeting we are, that we will be no more. I wonder if that’s the thought that a father I met this week has woken up to.
We met the day before my little one’s birthday, having volunteered to build a mountain bike track. My boys, dog and I were caked in dirt and very, very happy. A few hours into the dig, this father and son showed up. He was pristine. Uncomfortable in his own skin. The organiser struck up a conversation, and the man said he thought it’d be a nice thing to do with his teenage son. Gosh. You could see that it was a bonding session, and that it wasn’t enough to make a dent.
As I contemplated the night, 10 years ago, with body preparing for my child and me to meet, having written the poem at 1am, this parent and his child came to mind. What a pity. It was obvious they lacked nothing material. But needed a lot. They needed to get back to basics. The sort of things that we realise with phenomenal clarity when we’re told we’re dying. There are many books out there that delve into how preparing for death teaches us about life. They pivot around having feelings and expressing them. Spending time with people who are important to us. Living, or at least pursuing a dream rather than living out someone else’s aspirations (parents beware what you project on to your children). And at the core, a key issue I have delved into before – deciding to be, letting ourselves be, happy. Be. Not pursue. Back to my now 10-year-old. I’d like to think that he keeps the poem and reads it when I am gone.
Dying while he is still young used to terrify me. Now I do my utmost to exhale and hope for the best, with the knowledge that he has such wonderful values already in place – he is kind and caring and has a better grip on what really counts than most
adults. Things like making memories, not buying material goods. His birthday present isn’t about what it is, but what it does for him and for us as a family. It enriches his days and ours too.
If you’re wondering what it is, the last line of the poem tells you:
You have long wished for wings, to fly near and far
I’m sure you will fly high with your electric guitar
He earned his guitar, having spent hours every week, with nearly daily practice, teaching himself chords and songs on his Spanish guitar over a couple of years. All self-led and motivated. Strumming away is gifting us many magical moments, with plans to form our own band and him patiently teaching me tunes so that we can jam away together. I hope, no matter how old my children are when I depart, that they will be armed with things that will see them through to their own end with a life fulfilled. And to be secure in the knowledge that I love them, no matter what. As long as I get front row seats to all the concerts.
‘ His birthday present isn’t about what it is, but what it does for him and for us as a family