Most people think of a box wrapped with grid on one side to make sure you’re cutting straight and a glossy message of hope, excitement and a bright bow on the outside. Or now days society has become so lazy it’s a colored bag with a little tag on it.
I was raised in a family where birthdays were everything – most times the celebration lasted the whole birth month. However Christmas had very few box gifted with bows and flashy wrapping paper. The gift was the holiday card – it was often a ‘We’re going to…’ message.
The gift was the time together as a family. Time was valued from the day I was born and my parents made it a humble quiet lesson they would teach me growing up.
Looking back I can think of few major ‘time is a gift’ experiences that shaped me to continue this mentality as an adult.
I was raised in the same house my dad was raised. The Christmas tree was in the same spot as it was for my Dad growing up. The kitchen table where my dad gathered for meals with his family sat in the same spot as our kitchen table. Our bedrooms were shared by my dad and his siblings and me and my sister. Time was the gift. The traditions continued and the walls heard the same stories three generations in a row. We had our first family dog in the that house. My dad also had his first dog in that house. The small things…
My Mom climbed the corporate ladder and had the opportunity to move our family away several times but denied it every time. Why? Mom and Dad agreed giving my sister and I the opportunity to know my grandparents on my mom’s side was worth more than any paycheck. Time with grandma and grandpa on the farm – I think that’s the second best gift I’ve ever been given.
I would beg Mom and Dad to let me ride the school bus an extra 30 minutes so I could go the farm and spend a couple hours playing jokes on grandma and grandpa, running the four wheelers through the creek, tapping watermelons in the garden, raising my first pig and taking it to market at age 5, riding sheep, and ‘stealing’ the eggs from the chickens. My grandpa taught me the difference between a storyteller (me) and a really good storyteller (him). Even though his stories changed a few details every time he told it.
My grandma had knee surgery when I was 12 and while most of my school mates were in sports, summer camps, and spending time at the local swimming pool, I was granny’s nurse. It was fun – I would make breakfast every morning, ride to town with Grandpa, go grocery shopping, and I was learning what it was like during the old days all at the same time.
During that summer, my grandpa taught me to drive a car. It was really no big deal – he had already taught me to drive a tractor, lawn mower, and four wheeler. Time catches memory making moments like a flyswatter catches a fly. Like the split second I looked in the rear view mirror while driving with grandpa only to see my dad staring back at me. He was on an appointment and I happened to end up in front of him. That’s how he found out Grandpa taught me to drive. 24 years later and I can still picture his expression like it was yesterday.
The time with my grandma and grandpa taught me to value the ‘little things’ in life because those moments are really the big moments. Take the time to live the ‘little things!’
Our holiday gift was often a vacation – most times it was with my grandparents. Canada was our getaway. Fly back fishing with no technology was the highlight of growing up with a value of time. Storytelling, book reading, fishing, swimming, cooking, fish frys along the shoreline, watching and respecting wildlife, pretending to be a bear in our cabin, and pulling pranks on one another. It was an amazing gift.
It was no surprise in 2004 when I graduated from the University of Iowa (60 miles from home) that I turned down opportunities to leave the state of Iowa. I was staying close to home. Grandpa was sick and I knew time was limited so I wanted to make the most of it – even though it was hard taking Grandpa on the four wheeler after taking 20 minutes to load up his oxygen tanks on the back. I would do anything to make his day better.
Grandpa gave me his last gift in 2005- the experience of death. A peaceful at home death surrounded by family and a fabulous Hospice team. He left me with an appreciation of a long, happy, and mostly healthy life living just as he wanted to.
Granny only time followed – it felt weird yet valued. She was my cling to both her and Grandpa. We continued to do a lot together – she was proud of her first grandchild to go to college in her hometown so we had a lot of ‘old days vs new days’ comparison experiences. After Grandpa’s death, Granny taught me the strength to get through death in my own way.
I remember her hesitation to support my decision to leave Corporate Tax and go self employed – no health insurance, no guaranteed paycheck, no retirement contribution, and a reliance on my parents to push me through. What she didn’t know is I wasn’t making the change solely for me; I was doing it to have more time with her. Time was shifting from grocery shopping, Cubs games, and road trips to doctor’s appointments, ER visits, and scooter trips.
Time with her was the gift I was seeking.
She passed away in 2011- Grandpa although not physically here helped me through Granny’s death. This round was a bit easier because it wasn’t my first time in this situation.
I vowed from that moment on I would do my best to focus on the gift of time, take advantage of it but not take it for granted.
Time. It’s. A. Gift.
Blog of Reality 