IT WAS THE LAST TIME by Pennie Hunt

Those brown eyes. I will never forget those brown eyes looking at me. He was sitting in his truck as I told him I loved him, said goodbye, and walked away. It was the last time. 
We were at a gas station, my car parked in front of his truck as we both filled our tanks. I paid for his gas. It was the last time.

We met for breakfast that morning. IHOP was busy as we slid into our booth. I don’t remember what spurred it, but I remember the conversation. Every. Word. Of. It.
I told him how I believe we are all energy, and we shouldn’t look at people for how tall or short they are, what their weight is, or how smart they are. We should look at them for their energy. What the energy of their soul looks like.  

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I had a scrap of paper in my purse that I took out and drew a star.
     “This is what I think I look like,” I said as I added sparkly dots to the star because I like jewelry and sparkly things.

Then the game began. On the edge of the morning newspaper, we drew people as they entered the restaurant. Not their face or body, but the way we thought their energy looked.

Pancakes arrived and the paper was pushed away, but the conversation continued.
      “You know, I believe our energy never dies,” I said, thinking about my dad who had passed just two years before. I pinched my thumb and finger together, leaving a whisper of space between the two.
     “I believe grandpa is still here. I believe there is only this much space between
        where he is and us.”
His eyes looked intently at me as I patted the seat of my booth and explained that I believe he is right here next to me all the time.
     “The energy of grandpa is always close to us and we can talk to him and be with him whenever we want to. “I said.
     “Do you really believe that?” he asked.
     “Absolutely! I think grandpa is in a magical place that we can’t even understand…
       but we will someday.”
He was enthralled by this conversation.  I was thrilled that he was interested in my beliefs and my way of seeing life, death, and everything in between. When the pancakes were gone and the waiting area was bustling with energy-filled people, we decided we should let someone else have our booth. As we walked out, I said,
     “I need to get gas in my car, if you follow me, I will fill your tank too.” 
     “Are you sure?” he said with one of his huge smiles. 

I watched him in my rear-view mirror as he drummed his steering wheel and bounced to the music he was listening to. The vision of the energy that was the soul of my son struck me as a shining light bigger than I could draw on a piece of paper. I never felt more connected to him than I did in that moment.

Our tummies, our tanks, and our hearts were full. We hugged. A deep hug that neither of us wanted to let go of. Then he got in his truck. I walked to my car and got in looking back at his eyes still looking at me. It was the last time.

I often think of memories of my son and the trail always takes me to the last time I saw him, the last time I touched him, and the last time I heard his voice. I knew the value of that moment was life-changing at the time, but I didn’t know the profound memory that it would become.

It has been 14 years. Every year I write about him on his birthday and the anniversary of his relocation to heaven. I will always talk about him, write about him, and remember him – over and over again. It will never be the last time.  
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Pennie’s Life Lesson: “The true value of the moment is in the memory it becomes."
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YOUR TURN...        
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