By: Marlene Oxender
One way to get a junk drawer cleaned out is to accidentally spill it all over the floor. During a family gathering. It’ll make a few people sit down on the floor with you and help sort.
It will cause conversation about the things in the drawer. Like thumbtacks. When there isn’t a bulletin board in the house. Everyone needs a couple boxes of thumbtacks to keep forever.
And straight pins. When the lid on the little box of straight pins does not hold, pins are going to fly everywhere.
And roll. And you’ll continue to find straight pins days after you thought it was safe to walk barefoot in the house.
My family actually had a good time looking at the items in the drawer as we sorted.
They recognized little whatnots that had once occupied the desk drawers at their grandparents’ homes. Now I’m the one storing things deemed worthy of keeping.
Who doesn’t store an old tobacco pipe in their desk drawer? It may be needed for a skit or a play. Or when children build a snowman, they may ask if you happen to have a corncob pipe. You can then answer, “Why yes I do.”
A few dice rolled out of the desk drawer that day. Various sizes. Some red. Some white. One small green one. Quite a few intriguing little items. Like jingle bells. Jacks. Tiny toys.
Only when we transition into our next life will we no longer need to keep things. Someone will go through the stuff we’ve left behind.
They’ll sort through kitchen drawers and cupboards. Utility rooms. Toolboxes. Garage shelves. Purses and wallets. We can only hope we’ve left a few treasures for them to find.
My late brother Stevie, who had Down syndrome, collected mementos and sports memorabilia. He had saved his Cincinnati Reds ticket from June of 2013 when the Reds played the Cardinals. The game started at 7:10 p.m., and he was seated in Row E, Seat 4.
Stevie had also saved his Special Olympics ribbons and medals and everything else you’d imagine he would have saved.
If I could speak with Stevie, I’d teasingly ask him if he is still up to no good with his buddies Kevin Heer and Eric McKinney. Are the three of them still getting away with sharing their crazy thoughts? With offering compliments that make everyone laugh? Is there karaoke in heaven?
I don’t need to ask the angels if they know what they have.
If Stevie could talk to his family and friends, he would probably thank us for loving him the way we did. He’d tell us he knows he is missed. He’d tell us he is still feeling the love, and he loves us back.
He’d remind us that we’ll meet up again, but today is not the day. In the meantime – go live your life.
Had Stevie been present when the contents of the desk drawer fell to the floor, he would have been in awe of the wonderful opportunity to help clean up a mess such as that. There would have been laughter.
I miss Stevie’s comic relief. He always knew what to do next, because hanging out doesn’t require plans. Stevie didn’t seize the day; he let the day seize him. In the best of ways.
The thank you notes I’ve written in my head are still there. They haven’t made it to paper yet because I start crying when I try to write them.
In my mind, I see a cartoonish-looking tear splattered on the thank you note. Blurring the ink.
I know that those I’d like to thank in a note are not expecting anything in writing from me. They would probably think it’s an odd thing to be thanked for loving and caring for Stevie.
And it’d be nearly everyone who ever paid attention to him that I’d like to send a thank-you card to.
My family and I have received many notes of sympathy and care from others. We’ve received texts and calls.
We’ve read words of gratitude on Stevie’s Facebook page for sharing him with the community and nurturing his independence.
After we lose someone close to us, it seems hopeful that our grief will take us to a goalpost of some sort, and the pain of the loss will lessen.
But some say the goalpost is a moving target. We think we’re there but find out we’re not. We don’t know which direction to head to next.
Although most of the time I’d spent with Stevie was good, there were hard times along the way, especially at the end of his life when dementia was taking hold.
But I know the hard times were there to make me stronger. The lessons made me wiser. And I was lifted up by the kindness of those around me.
Maybe life is like a junk drawer. We save items we think we’ll need in the future. We store things in our heart – even things that hurt.
There are times we feel lucky because the dice landed just right. There are days when everything is a mess, and we have to put things back together again.
One thing we learned from Stevie is that it’s okay to live a simple life. To create our own happiness. If the dice land on the wrong numbers, just laugh and roll them again until you get what you want.
If someone doesn’t agree with you, give them a hug and let them know how agreeable they can choose to be.
After all, everyone knows the hands on the clock are always correct. They’re right where they need to be for whatever it is we’d like to do.
It’s always the right time to drop everything and go have fun. It’s always the right time to seize the day. Or let the day seize us – but only in the best of ways.
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Marlene Oxender is a writer, speaker, and author. She writes about growing up in the small town of Edgerton, her ten siblings, the memorabilia in her parents’ estate, and her late younger brother, Stevie Kimpel, who was born with Down syndrome. Her two recently published books, Picket Fences and Stevie, are available on Amazon. Marlene can be reached at mpoxender@gmail.com