Sunday's Snapshots: Big Shoes

Our county recently lost a lovely soul, someone who volunteered tirelessly and always had a smile and a kind word for everyone. A person with more than half their life left, taken too soon. I knew this person by name and sight, had held multiple conversations with them, but wouldn’t say I really knew them. We didn’t get together once a week or text one another delightful memes, and yet I’m rocked by their loss because I know just how much they meant to others, just how far their reach extended, just how large their shoes are and how impossible to fill.

How do we make sense of loss? What about when the loss isn’t personal but communal?

Sometimes when I’m feeling sorry for myself because things aren’t going my way, I’ll think something childish like, “Everything would fall apart without me.” And then I laugh, because I know it’s not true. The world would keep turning, my loss would be a blip on the radar of a small handful, forgotten by most a few minutes or hours after hearing the news. And none of this is meant to be self-deprecating, just to say that I know how far my current circle extends…and I’m working on broadening it again.

My mother and I have seen every version of A Christmas Carol that exists, and many multiple times, because it’s her favorite holiday movie. Last year we both read the book by Dickens and a couple of spin-off books as well. I think the reason I like it so much, apart from it bringing me closer to my mom, is the idea that we can always change, always strive to be better, that it’s never too late to lead a meaningful life.

We mourn young lives lost partly because possibilities have ended. We mourn older lives lost for all the many hearts they’ve touched. The difference is our ability to celebrate an older life lost: accomplishments made, goals achieved, from small impacts among family and friends to larger impacts across society via our cities and counties.

Sit for a moment, a piece of paper and a pen with you if you like, and seriously list the lives you’ve touched from small to big. For some it will be easier to simply say “family” and “friends” than to list each individual name, for others the list will feel too short without each name. Think about the people you run into every week when you’re running errands, or every month when you attend a club meeting, or every year when you give your mail delivery person a tub of homemade treats. These are all people who will mourn your loss for either a fleeting minute or even several years, possibly a lifetime.

How many of those people will say you changed their life? How far does your circle extend? What are you doing to ensure your life has been valuable?

Perhaps the real key to A Christmas Carol isn’t that it’s never too late to lead a more meaningful life, but that it’s never too late to make a meaningful impact on the lives of others. Because of course we smile when Scrooge wakes up jumping for joy that he hasn’t missed Christmas, but we cry when he brings Cratchit a meal and a raise. We are pleased by his change of heart; we are moved by his actions.

Last week, I took my kiddos to a store with a tree full of ages and genders, kiddos in our community whose families need a little help making Christmas special this year. They each picked one heart and began loading our cart with things the kid their age might love, because I assured them, “If it’s something you’d like, the odds are that kid will like it too.” It helped me know what they want for Christmas, as well as began instilling in them the idea of gratitude for what we have, and a sense of community care. This is a tradition I learned from my mother, and one I’m happy to pass on.

We are so lucky in this county to have so many volunteers working tirelessly to ensure everyone is cared for and living a good life. There are endless fundraisers and festivals and drives. There is no shortage of need and a dearth of volunteers. We’ve just lost a major one whose impact is known by a few, but whose reach was many.

I’d like to thank all the many volunteers in this community, and if you aren’t already one of them, I’d like to challenge you to become one. I challenge you to leave behind a county of people wondering how they will ever fill your shoes, as it’s the highest compliment I can give.

Sunday Dutro is an internationally published writer living in Thompson Falls with her beautiful family. Reach her at [email protected].