The things we leave behind ~ my column from Sunday's paper

There is a cemetery at the end of our road I pass so often that I rarely notice it these days. But last week after Old Man Winter’s visit and it was safe to drive, I headed into the office.

Stopping at the intersection to look for oncoming traffic, I noticed the cemetery as if for the first time. Snow covered the graves like a cotton blanket and I thought to myself, “Is there anything colder than a cemetery in snow?”

The scene reminded me of a tiny spiral-bound notebook I found in the dash pocket of my dad’s old 1978 Chevy truck after he died.

He was not a fearful man. In fact, I don’t recall him ever being afraid of anything, but after his death, I learned that was not true. He was afraid of dying.

He only finished the fifth grade, so his words were not eloquent, but they were poignant. He’d written that he could not stand the thought of “Being laid to rest in the old cold ground.”

Each year he volunteered to work at the cemetery where our people were buried. He also served as a gravedigger long before they used backhoes to scratch graves from the clay.

Although he spent a lot of summers working in the cemetery while he was living, dying weighed on his mind. According to the notebook he left behind, he didn’t look forward to spending eternity in the old cold ground.

As I sat in my idling truck lost in thought, a car eased up behind me and tooted the horn, which brought me back to the present.

On my drive to work, I started thinking about the things we leave behind.

I remembered finding my brother Darrin’s Ray Ban sunglasses at my mom’s house after he died. He loved nice clothes, watches, and sunglasses. The Ray Bans were expensive. Even someone who never knew my brother could look at those glasses he left behind and understand that he enjoyed nice things. I still have those glasses in a case on my dresser.

My Grandpa Ferguson was a thrifty man. He died when I was young and I don’t remember him, but I remember what he left behind.

My mom kept his lavender and white plaid handkerchief with four wheat pennies tied into one corner.

I have no idea why he did that, but the handkerchief was in his pocket when he died.

Mama loved and collected crystal bells and other knick-knacks, which she displayed on her mantle and curio cabinets. Toward the end of her life, she told the kids and grandkids to write their name on nickel-sized stickers and stick them on the things they’d like to have when she died. It was a great way to share the things she left behind.

There is a 1949 Ford tractor in our barn that belonged to my father-in-law Sharky Phillips. He loved tools and things to make his work easier.

Sometimes when I’m down there, I’ll climb up on the old metal seat to think for a while.

Even though it hasn’t been cranked in years, we would never consider selling it because it belonged to Sharky.

We all go through life collecting things along the way.

The people who come after will learn a great deal about us through the things we leave behind.