THE EMPTY ROOM

THE EMPTY ROOM 

Some years ago my wife’s Aunt Ethel passed away. She had lived alone for a number of years. After her passing, Ethel’s family from out of town had come to take away her possessions. They carried away her furniture, living room chairs and sofa, her bed, desk, some clothes, and other belongings. After they had gone, my wife and I went to her apartment to dispose of what was left. I walked into a room which had been Ethel’s den. I just stood there in silence, looking at the emptiness. What struck me the most, was this—these people had taken what they considered the “good stuff” and, in doing so, emptied out the contents of Ethel’s desk and had left it scattered all over the floor; among the items were many photos of Ethel, her late husband, her family, her memories, and other personal papers. This was Ethel’s life—left behind, discarded, cast out to be forgotten. I asked myself, is this how we all end up, just forgotten memories, dumped onto a floor? Doesn’t our life mean anything to anyone? So cold it is, to cast away remembrance—a person’s heart and soul, just thrown away! 

I assure you ,many times my mind and heart have re-entered this empty room, thinking and feeling what the absence of life is. How someone is here, then gone. How a person’s heart can touch with warmth and love to teach us to grow, to help us and nurture our lives. How someone comes into our lives, creating a reservoir of memories, passing through, from here to there. 

To know a person’s worth, is to know the fragrance of their soul; and the failure to see the heart or soul of another, is the absence to know the loaf from the crumbs, the “good stuff” from the leftovers. How sad it is, that we judge people by the possessions they own, not looking beyond into their soul. Does it take someone to pass away and moments of sorrow, to make us realize the value of one’s life? Life is so precious, and the value we leave behind is not materialistic possessions, but the containment of our personal soul, our inner self, our enrichment, our personal touch, our presence: ingredients that dwell in the soul, which make up our character. When we are called from this earth, our materialistic possessions are carried off to another place, gathering dust, and are soon forgotten; but the possessions of our soul are carried on, distributed, etched into another heart, another soul—multiplying in giving—remembering, when our life touched, and inspired someone on their journey. These are the gifts that last, possessions that have no owner, but continue on and on; for the value of our possessions, is not in the accumulation of what we keep, but what we give away. And of these, are the gifts of the spirit—an inner dwelling of compassion—that free another of its misery and troubles. It is compassion that fills an empty room, an empty chamber, reconstructing the heart and soul from emptiness, to peace. 

Compassion is not a possession that can be kept to oneself—it releases and continues to give and give. It is a component of love, of great depth and dimension. It is a mellowed state of a spiritual presence, an awareness, a sensitivity that beckons love to express itself. It has an uncontrollable burning desire to fill an empty heart or soul, consuming it with a gentle breeze, with softness, with warmth to fill a void; its nature is to change the unchangeable, to help the lost who wander, to find a direction to inner peace, solace and love. 

It is my realization, that most people hurt internally in someway, unable to untangle their inner turmoil. They are captivated by loneliness, poverty, brokenness, insecurity, poor health, financial problems, and addictions. These are the rooms of the heart and soul of the unfortunate, filled with grief and unhappiness. These are the photos and pictures we fail to see. They are not dumped out, scattered on the floor of an empty room. They are your neighbor, your friend, your spouse, your child; they are your minister, your coworkers, your teachers; they are all around us. The contents of remembrance— the loaf, the crumbs, the “good stuff,” the leftovers—these make up the photo albums of our journey: memories of hurt, joy, sorrow and peace. 

If I can intervene in just one heart, save one soul, make a difference to someone to lighten the burden or enhance their life, then I have given the gift of myself—possessions in transit of love, mercy, compassion, forgiveness, and peace—embracing an empty heart, filling an empty room.

Robert J. Varrick

rjvarrick@gmail.com