No one saw it coming. Least of all you.
The day started out like any other. Nothing out of the ordinary to report until that very last moment, when suddenly, without warning, your life was over - end of story.
Or was it?
Fast forward to your funeral. Who was there? How many people came to say goodbye? What did they say about you? What's more, what did they remember most about you? After all, that's the only thing that really matters, isn't it ? What you left behind.
The big question for you today is: What did you do with your life? Did you spend it trying to make yourself happy or did you spend it on a more worthwhile cause -a little something the experts like to call “really living”?
Let's find out…Let's look at your last day - or better yet, let's look at today as your last day. How's that going for you?
Now that you're good and uncomfortable, let me share one of my favorite poems with you:
It isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache
At the setting of the sun;
The tender word unspoken,
The letter you did not write,
The flower you might have sent, dear,
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted
Out of your brother's way,
The bit of heartfelt counsel
You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle and winsome tone,
That you had no time or thought for,
With troubles of your own.
These little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind,
These chances to be angels,
Which even mortals find
They come in night and silence,
Each chill's reproachful wraith,
When hope is faint and fading,
And blight has dropped on faith.
For life is all too short, dear.
And sorrow is all too great,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late.
And it's not the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache,
At the setting of the sun.
Adelaide Proctor (1825-1864)
So…
Here we are and it's your last day…
What will you do with it?
For some, making amends might top the list. Maybe you want to tell some people that you love them… again. Since this is your last day it doesn't matter how much money you have or how many things you own. No one will remember you for your expensive shoes or your expensive car. Your house will go to someone else as well as that fabulous collection of spoons you collected in Nevada, but they will remember the laughs you shared and that time you came over on a Saturday and helped fix their fence - three weeks in a row. They will remember your smile and how you made them feel special -even when they got that horrible new haircut and, even though it was killing you, you never said a word. They'll
remember your generosity and your bear hugs; the way you genuinely cared about them; not your highest golf score or the size of your TV.
What will your children remember about you? Will they remember that you worked a lot and were always stressed out – or will they remember the games you played and the songs you sang (badly, I might add)?
Will they remember the time you had ice cream sundaes for dinner and laid out under the stars, dancing in the kitchen, tickle fights and morning cuddle time -or will their last memory be one of angry words and frustration?
Maybe you're like me, and far greater than any other regret, are all the things I wish I'd done. The stories I never got written, the paintings I never finished, the things I always wanted to learn, but just never got around to… and oh, the places I'd still like to see…
Yesterday can't be unwritten, but the next minute of your life can. You and I may or may not have more days ahead, but we do have this one.
How will you spend it?
I like to think that at my funeral there will be many who will take a piece of me with them. That when I stand before God and give an account of the days allotted to me, I won't even have to speak, because the voices of those I leave behind will speak for me -laughing and telling stories of how I ran through the sprinklers with my underwear on my head. How I opened presents early, ran from spiders, wore pajamas to the grocery store, was always late -and how I saw the best in them even when no one else did, held their hand when they were hurting, forgave the unforgivable, loved the unlovable and hopefully, in some small way, proved that butterflies really can change the world.
“While alive he lived.” –Malcolm Forbes (etched on his tombstone)
The day started out like any other. Nothing out of the ordinary to report until that very last moment, when suddenly, without warning, your life was over - end of story.
Or was it?
Fast forward to your funeral. Who was there? How many people came to say goodbye? What did they say about you? What's more, what did they remember most about you? After all, that's the only thing that really matters, isn't it ? What you left behind.
The big question for you today is: What did you do with your life? Did you spend it trying to make yourself happy or did you spend it on a more worthwhile cause -a little something the experts like to call “really living”?
Let's find out…Let's look at your last day - or better yet, let's look at today as your last day. How's that going for you?
Now that you're good and uncomfortable, let me share one of my favorite poems with you:
It isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache
At the setting of the sun;
The tender word unspoken,
The letter you did not write,
The flower you might have sent, dear,
Are your haunting ghosts at night.
The stone you might have lifted
Out of your brother's way,
The bit of heartfelt counsel
You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle and winsome tone,
That you had no time or thought for,
With troubles of your own.
These little acts of kindness,
So easily out of mind,
These chances to be angels,
Which even mortals find
They come in night and silence,
Each chill's reproachful wraith,
When hope is faint and fading,
And blight has dropped on faith.
For life is all too short, dear.
And sorrow is all too great,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late.
And it's not the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
Which gives you the bitter heartache,
At the setting of the sun.
Adelaide Proctor (1825-1864)
So…
Here we are and it's your last day…
What will you do with it?
For some, making amends might top the list. Maybe you want to tell some people that you love them… again. Since this is your last day it doesn't matter how much money you have or how many things you own. No one will remember you for your expensive shoes or your expensive car. Your house will go to someone else as well as that fabulous collection of spoons you collected in Nevada, but they will remember the laughs you shared and that time you came over on a Saturday and helped fix their fence - three weeks in a row. They will remember your smile and how you made them feel special -even when they got that horrible new haircut and, even though it was killing you, you never said a word. They'll
remember your generosity and your bear hugs; the way you genuinely cared about them; not your highest golf score or the size of your TV.
What will your children remember about you? Will they remember that you worked a lot and were always stressed out – or will they remember the games you played and the songs you sang (badly, I might add)?
Will they remember the time you had ice cream sundaes for dinner and laid out under the stars, dancing in the kitchen, tickle fights and morning cuddle time -or will their last memory be one of angry words and frustration?
Maybe you're like me, and far greater than any other regret, are all the things I wish I'd done. The stories I never got written, the paintings I never finished, the things I always wanted to learn, but just never got around to… and oh, the places I'd still like to see…
Yesterday can't be unwritten, but the next minute of your life can. You and I may or may not have more days ahead, but we do have this one.
How will you spend it?
I like to think that at my funeral there will be many who will take a piece of me with them. That when I stand before God and give an account of the days allotted to me, I won't even have to speak, because the voices of those I leave behind will speak for me -laughing and telling stories of how I ran through the sprinklers with my underwear on my head. How I opened presents early, ran from spiders, wore pajamas to the grocery store, was always late -and how I saw the best in them even when no one else did, held their hand when they were hurting, forgave the unforgivable, loved the unlovable and hopefully, in some small way, proved that butterflies really can change the world.
“While alive he lived.” –Malcolm Forbes (etched on his tombstone)
The Butterfly Project© 2009
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved.
