I grew up in the forties and fifties with practical parents - a  Mother, God love her, who washed aluminum foil after she cooked in it, then reused it. A Father who was happier getting old shoes fixed than buying new ones. 

Their marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave away. I can see them now, Dad in trousers, tee shirt and a hat and Mom in a house dress, lawn mower in one hand, dishtowel in the other... 

It was the time for fixing things - a curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the oven door, the hem in a dress. Things we keep. 

It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy. All that re-fixing, reheating, renewing, I wanted just once to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant there'd always be more. 

But then my Dad died, and on that clear fall night, in the  warmth of the hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning  that sometimes there isn't any 'more'. 

Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away, never to return. So while we have's best we love it and care for it and fix it when it's broken and heal it when it's sick. 

This is true for marriage and old cars and children with bad report cards and dogs with bad hips...and grandparents. We keep them because they are worth it; because we are worth it. 

Some things we keep. Like a best friend that moved away, or a  classmate we grew up with. 

There are just some things that make life important... people we know who are special...and so, we keep them close! Let them know just how special they are. Send this to them…