My mom would occasionally say, particularly during my years as a teenager, “You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.” Partly in jest, partly as a gentle reminder of perspective, the statement was 100% truth.

She died 28 years ago. I certainly miss her, and dad who died 13 years before her. And Brian, my friend who died when he was 19. And John, an old high school buddy who died at 52. My list is long, as I am sure yours is. Did we ever know in our moments with people how much we would miss them when they were gone? Or how much others will miss us when we are gone? Maybe we should think about that and relish the moments we have with others, because there will come a day that we no longer have them – the people and the moments; they are gone or we are gone. Maybe we should let them know in our words and actions.

In the summer of 1990, I wrote this poem, titled “Count the Cars,” which represented the other side of the coin.  

Count the Cars

The childhood daydream
That
“They will miss me when I am gone”
Returns.

It returns with child-like
Insecurities
and adult
Frustrations.

Count the cars
Trailing the long
black
limousine
to the vibrant green field
bespeckled by stones bearing names.

Count the cars
the tears
the downturned heads.
Were these my friends?
And where were they before?
Had I isolated them
As I will be isolated
now
in this box,
this quiet
velvet-lined box?
Or did I fear
them
their closeness
and their judgement?
Or was I just
too
independent?
Was it my fault at all?

Count the cars
rolling away
past the gates
back home.

Gone is the priest
the childhood chum
the grieving widow
the mound of dirt.

Alone.

Quiet.

Patient
beyond my dreams
I rest.

Count the cars.
Had I that many
friends?

Live each moment recognizing you will miss others and they will miss you. How you act in the moments will change.