Birdwatching is one of my favorite activities. Much to my delight, my backyard borders an open space/retention area, drawing a wonderful variety of species. Saturday, I enjoyed the antics of two bluebirds investigating the birdhouse attached to my favorite pine tree.

All of our past is made of memories. Two people can experience an identical event, yet come away with vastly different memories, or perhaps no memory of the event whatsoever. Our memories are forged by personal circumstance; ultimately we live in our minds.

This morning I watched one of my favorite television programs, CBS Sunday Morning, with Charles Osgood. One of the stories told of the fall of the Berlin wall. Today, November 9, 2014, marks the 25^th anniversary of the wall coming down. The Soviets began construction of the wall in 1961; the original wall stretched 27 miles … facts long forgotten – by me.

As monumental as that event was in the world, my memories of it are vague… snippets of people raising their fists, cheering, and climbing on the wall with pickaxes. My attention was focused on an event that occurred the night before. On November 8, 1989, my mother died of a massive stroke, at age 60. Yesterday marked the 25^th anniversary of her death, a monumental event in my life; the memory of which supersedes any other on a local or national scale.

My mother had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain aneurysm in January of 1989. She went on to undergo two craniotomies, several months apart, in an attempt to reroute the blood flow to her brain. The surgeries required her to spend months in the hospital and rehabilitation, before returning home to our family farm. My brother, Patrick, 18, was also living in the home. My father had died of a heart attack in March of 1988.

The evening my mother died, my sister Mary, her voice heavy with sorrow and tears, called me around 9:30 pm to relate the tragic news. Mary asked me to call our eldest sister, Judy. Her line was busy and I remember calling the operator with urgency in my voice, telling her I had to interrupt the call because my mother had died. The operator said she was sorry, and put my call through. I asked Judy if she was sitting down…I have no recollection what Judy said after I relayed the heartbreaking information.

I quickly gathered my clothing, and hopped into my car to head home, stopping at the local gas station to fill up, and for cigarettes (I know…yuck, I stopped 1 ½ yrs later). I went inside to pay, squeezing my way past a man asking the clerk for directions. The clerk wasn’t familiar with the location in question, but I was, so I proceeded to give the man directions. Initially, I remember thinking, “my mom just died, what’s happening in my life is more important than you needing directions.”

At that very moment, in occurred to me we never know what other people are experiencing in their lives. So much of our lives are lived in our minds…unknown to anyone but ourselves. When something happens, whatever it may be, the issue at hand is of utmost importance to the person experiencing it. The lost traveler had no way of knowing my mother had died, he was simply lost and asked for help. Giving him three-minutes of my time didn’t change my situation, but hopefully, it made a difference in his. Kindness is never wasted.

I drove away from the gas station and began my journey home. With tears streaming down my face, I made the two-hour drive in record time. I was welcomed by the loving arms and grief-stricken faces of my siblings. The next few days were a blur – flashbacks of familiar faces, tears, smiles, and hugs. The outside world was distant and irrelevant.

Twenty-five years later, the memories of my mother’s death are intertwined with the “aha” moment I experienced directing the lost traveler. I’m sure he doesn’t remember me, but he likely has much sharper memories of the fall of the Berlin wall.

“When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” ~ Kahlil Gibran