A few months ago I asked my brother if he wanted to get ice cream with me. Thankfully, he said yes.
We invited our pup along for the ride, hopped in the car, and drove to a local ice cream shop a few towns over from where we live.
When we got there, we walked up to the window where you place your order, and a kid from my brother’s high school class greeted us with a, “Hey! How are you?” and a big ole smile.
He and my brother exchanged a few cordial words, and I hung back trying to smile. What seemed as though it was a friendly, innocent encounter led way to the opposite for me. While I listened to them chat, I couldn’t help but feel a pit form in the center of my stomach.
And suddenly, I wasn’t just ordering ice cream.
This particular guy tragically lost his sister in a car accident five years ago. She was in my high school class, while he is the same age as my brother. He has worked at that ice cream shop for five (or more) years now, too.
The night of the accident, he and his sister left work together.
That was the last of his time with her.
As my brother and he were dabbing up and catching up, my brain flooded with all of these facts. I no longer cared about what flavor I got. I didn’t even read the menu. He suggested the new cannoli flavor, and I said, “Okay, I’ll take it.” I didn’t think twice. I just looked at my brother while the employees were scooping our ice creams into cones, and I thought, “I know he would do anything to be in my position right now. Let me slow down and savor this.”
There are just some moments in life where you are hyper-aware of how special they are while they’re happening. You’re able to remove yourself from the flow of the moment and appreciate the reality of your existence all while the moment is still occurring. Those are the moments that you will be able to retrieve from your library of experiences long after they’re over. They’ll stay stamped on your consciousness and etched into your skin, and they’ll make you live a little harder and a little softer all at the same time.
In that moment, I wasn’t just ordering ice cream anymore. I was thanking God that I was still able to leisurely hop into the car at 8 PM on a Tuesday night to go get dessert, and more importantly, I was thanking God that I was still able to do it all with my brother.
After we ordered our cones, we sat in my car and ate our ice creams. Usually, I get into my car and start driving and I’m not cognitively aware of when I put my key into the ignition or step down on the gas pedal, but that night, I made myself remember. I made sure I asked how his ice cream tasted, made sure I turned down the radio so we could talk, made sure I drove extra careful, made sure I didn’t waste a second of our time in honor of the girl who lost her life doing exactly what I was doing.
Ever since that day, I’ve been more aware of my time with him. He’s made a habit of coming into my room every night and wrestling with my dog on my bed. Let’s just say it is not my favorite nighttime activity— one of my least favorites, actually. But I try (emphasis on “try”) to look past my annoyance and into the moment knowing that I’m lucky he can open the door and waltz into my room.
I try to pay attention when he shows me new chess moves or videos of top chess players. I try my best to just wash his plate instead of getting annoyed he left it in the sink. I try my best to ask about his hockey games and how he played when I see him the day after. I try my best to say yes every time he needs a ride somewhere. I try my best to remember that all the reasons I have to be annoyed and all the reasons I have to just look past the little moments are someone else’s burning wish.
My brother is someone I would do anything in this world for. The same goes for my sister. I cannot imagine life without either of them, and I pray I never have to. They are people who I hope are there till my very last days. I love them beyond words.
The night my brother and I got ice cream at that shop, I know the sister of the boy who was working, was there with me in some form. She reminded me that life is a compilation of all the small moments, and if you’re in a hurry to rush toward the grandeur events, you’ll get to the end and realize the little moments mattered most.
It was my reminder that life is precious and who you spend it with makes all the difference. Whether you’re washing a plate or getting ice cream with someone, be thankful for the people who make your life worthwhile. They are, in fact, worth all your while.
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