A little old lady shuffles across the floor passing her dogs which lie peacefully on the rugs scattered about the old home’s otherwise bare hardwood floors. She carries in her heart this day the memories of life experiences that fills her heart with contentment and the knowledge she has done the right things as best she knew how.
The day is coming upon her that she knows she’ll leave her loved ones behind to carry on her legacy. They have blessed her in the gates of the city. She decides to take a look at some of those memories as she moves along into the kitchen pantry.
Ah, the jar that contains the memory of her children. The birth of each one with such pain, easily forgotten upon the sight of the crying one held up and given to her. She cuddles each one tightly while checking their fingers and toes. Yes there are ten each. Feet kicking and arms flailing about, she calms them each one by one over the years as each new one comes into the world. Such a precious memory jar she has there on the shelf.
The jar with memories of her husband is most precious. He gave his all not only to her but the children as well. He served her out of his love and concern for her. The works of his hands were the extension of his inward self to her and their children. He never gave up nor in to all the circumstance of life that were thrown at them. He handled them all with great determination, because he knew it was his priority. She knew he’d provide for this family of his. Never any doubt entered her mind that he would not do so. His love for her was perfect, as hers was for him.
There was a jar containing her childhood as well. Her mom and dad were the ones who instilled in her the value of life and the desire to pave her own path into the world. Negativity was not to be spoken in her home as she grew up with her siblings. They all kept the best foot forward and did not accept less of others. They learned encouragement from their mom and dad. It carried on and this jar still remained fresh from those ingredients even to this day.
As she reviewed these memories in her heart as she took down each jar with her wrinkled hands and rubbed them ever so gently over the glass containing the memories. The warmth of her hands only served to bring the contents to life more than ever. She put the jar upon her chest to let them feel her heart beat as she lifted her head up with closed eyes getting the glimpses of those times in her mind like a movie screen replaying it before her.
Her heart was strengthened as she lifted one jar, then another. She knew she’d done good. None of the jars upon the shelves had gone bad. They remain fresh and contained vital issuances of life to those who come after her. She has done well in life.
She has done well. All people who know her speak well of her and will do so for years to come.