Rainbows remind us of the simple pleasures in life. Photo: Galyna_Andrushko.
Why is it that when you’re running late, it feels like everything that can go wrong does go wrong?
I hate being late for appointments and always try to leave plenty of time to allow for unforeseen events.
And depending on where I’m going (ie, downtown Wollongong) I factor in lots of extra time to find parking.
But last week it was like the universe was conspiring against me.
The pants I had planned to wear had shrunk since the last time I wore them (that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it).
Finding another pair wasn’t that easy (yes, some of them had shrunk too) because then I had to find the right shirt.
Plus it’s now officially winter so the favourite, go-to shirt was too summery, as were the comfy, open toe shoes – which were the wrong colour anyway.
The pile of rejected clothes grew directly in line with my frustration, although the kittens were having a ball.
Time was ticking away and eating into that crucial finding-a-car-park-time but finally I was dressed and out the door.
Of course every idiot driver was also heading in the same direction as me – the ones who don’t know how to merge, the ones who insist on plodding along in the right-hand lane and heaven forbid, the ones who can’t tell the time – otherwise they would be well aware it was past 9:30 am so it’s no longer a 40 km/h school zone you fool.
At least the car parking gods were smiling on me and I snaffled a spot well within walking distance.
Did I mention I was going to a funeral? The father of a favourite friend had passed away at 97. I didn’t know him well but I love my friend and her family and wanted to show my respects and be there for them.
There’s something about death – even of someone you don’t know well – that manages to put life into perspective.
A funeral is one of those very, very rare times in today’s busy world that you are totally in the moment. There’s no sneaky looks at your phone, there’s nothing more important than being present, whether it’s for 30 minutes or two hours.
Thoughts of work were banished for a time, a rare pleasure.
Memories of my dear old dad surfaced, along with the feeling of loss that always accompanies thoughts of him and other close family members we’ve lost.
It was a simple but heartwarming service and the celebrant was a wise woman.
She reminded us all that death is often a time to reflect on life, especially the life we are lucky enough to still be living.
She advised us to count our blessings rather than count our money, or the number of cars we own or the material possessions that we yearn for.
She stressed the importance of making and spending time with our families and loved ones and not putting that off until tomorrow when it could be too late.
She recited a poem that I’m sure most of us have heard at a funeral service but this week it put life firmly into perspective.
It’s called The Dash, written in 1996 by Linda Ellis, and refers to the dash on a headstone between the date of birth and date of death.
Two stanzas in particular stood out to me, reminding me that none of us know the expiry date on our life, but we do know some who are closer to that date than we want to believe:
So, think about this long and hard; are there things you’d like to change? For you never know how much time is left that still can be rearranged.
To be less quick to anger and show appreciation more and love the people in our lives like we’ve never loved before.
As I drove home from the funeral, I didn’t notice those idiot drivers, or much less care about them.
I did, however, notice the beautiful rainbow that appeared out of the rainclouds. It was a reminder to appreciate the simple things in life, the precious things money can’t buy, like time with Mum.
RIP Harry Peary, 1928-2025
