You’re busy. You’ve got so much work stuff going on. It’s not their birthday. It’s an ordinary Tuesday–you don’t have time to make this moment special. You can’t indulge every request, fulfill every passing fancy.
But maybe you should try though?
On April 10th, Abraham Lincoln wrote to Edwin Stanton, his Secretary of War, “Tad wants some flags. Can he be accommodated?” The same day, he wrote to Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy, “Let Master Tad have a Navy sword.” Lincoln and his 12-year-old son had just returned from a boat journey, having visited the Army at City Point, Virginia, in the days of the war. It had no doubt spurred the boy’s curiosity and the requests. A few days later, Lincoln would give Tad another special experience, allowing him to go to the theater to see Aladdin and His Wonderful Lamp.
The two had always had a close relationship, especially in the aftermath of the loss of Willie, his brother, who had died of typhoid fever a little over three years prior. Lincoln had often gone to Tad’s room to comfort him at night. He had gone out of his way, as we said recently, to be patient with the boy’s progress in school. He had tried to be a loving father, but also a generous, even doting one.
Which was good, because he did not know how little time he had left. On the night of the 14th, Lincoln went to a different theater with Tad’s mother, Mary Todd. Father and son would never see each other again.
It was a tragedy, a tragedy only slightly mitigated by those final moments of sweetness—sweetness which happened in total ignorance of what the future foretold. We talked about Pierre Curie’s last weekend with his growing daughters, a summer outing he rushed away from, not knowing that he was rushing towards his own gruesome death.
We do not know how much time we have. So let’s be kind and sweet, generous and present, while we can.
P.S. We get it, it’s not fun as a parent to think about your kids living on after you’re gone, but it’s reality. And reminding yourself of this reality can actually make the moments you have with them mean so much more.
That’s why we’ve created the Memento Mori Medallion, as a gentle but persistent reminder that you could leave life right now. Grab yours today (part of our growing Memento Mori collection) and start living like death isn’t something to fear but an eventuality you’re prepared to accept.
