A Word Edgewise
by
Mary Joe Clendenin

Last Updated 09/06/05

For more literature go to Clendenin Books
Email: mjclen@our-town.com

             LIFE LEAVES ITS MARKS

         By Mary Joe Clendenin

          


	There was a very cautious man
	Who never laughed or played,
	He never risked, he never tried,
	He never sang or prayed.
	And when he one day passed away,
	His insurance was denied;
	For since he never really lived,
	They claim he never died.


   Now wouldn’t that be the pits. He should arise from that coffin and demand, “Where do you think I got all these wrinkles and gray hair?” I think I can help you account for some of those tell-tell marks of life—although many marks fade with time, or were not so tellingly imprinted. Give these memories a chance to prove you really have lived—or if you have a memory defect, go out and create yourself some more recent ones.

    Remember that time you suffered, I mean really suffered, all weekend with a horrible tooth ache that made your entire head throb with a new burst of pain with every heart beat. But you had to keep telling yourself no dentist will be available to pull a mouthful of teeth until Monday? Oh, it hurt so bad. You wanted to go tell your mama, “Kiss and make it well—“But Mama had given up on you years ago.

   Surely that occasion put a few marks on your carcass. Remember the time you were playing with your kids in the living room and one jumped over the couch flat-footed—and knocked your favorite lamp onto the floor? You knew you shouldn’t enjoy the play so much and encourage that kind of behavior in the house, but how could you hide the laugh that a glance at the son’s face triggered? Your look triggered brother’s grin, and that another, until everyone in the family was laughing—I mean “slap knee, limber jointed laughing.”

saw a list of advice from kids that brought a smile at their wisdom:
“Never hold a dustbuster and a cat at the same time.”
“When you want something expensive, ask your grandparents.”
“Wear a hat when feeding seagulls.”


   I really don’t want to open this memory, but I’m sure that somewhere in your chunked full memory bank you have hidden a key to that time when some loss of love made you know without doubt that a heart ache was a physical thing. Even the echoes of the pain can bring tears. But that memory, too, is a part of life.

   A different part of the memory system recorded the mild amusement—mild, unless you were responsible for the error, in the church bulletin:
“The peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been canceled due to a conflict.”
“For those of you who have children and don’t know it, we have a nursery downstairs.”

   Sure, this is just a sampling of things that would prove you really did live, and I’ve obviously let out the most important aspect of life, the LOVES that have supplied the colors. The pink-gold color that made a warm cloud around you and yours the many, many times you were aware of the sharing of life-space. The tingling at the touch of comfort. The hunger, the regrets. The longings—Oh, if I could only re-do, I would have taken my feelings out of hiding, shared so much more.

   Yes, regrets make their marks, too. All of these things certainly are proof of life. “Thank you, God, for the ability to feel, to live with sorrow enough to set apart the joys so that we may truly rejoice this day.”

   No, I’m not afraid that the insurance policy will not pay because I didn’t live.

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