You're Going to do What?

As the days of John’s life dwindled, we discussed everything. A romantic walk along the river could instantly turn into a discussion about cremation. A meal at the table was sidetracked with his question, “How do you feel about me dying?” 

So I shouldn’t have been surprised. 

Some background. When we built this house, we had a say in everything. John was very specific about his office. It had a large window to enable him to see the fireplace in the living room and the fire pit on the patio. The cupboards, the countertop around two walls, the lighting…he designed it all. 

It was the middle of the night, when suddenly he’s talking. His voice woke me with a question. “What are you going to do with my office?” 

“John, it’s the middle of the night.”

“I’ve been laying here awake for hours wondering. I designed that office for me. So what are you going to do with it?”

“I’m going to paint it pink. Go to sleep.”

“Joy, I’m serious. What do you think you will use it for?”

“I haven’t even thought about it, so give me some time. Now go to sleep.”

“Okay, a few days.”

A few days later I told him I would turn his office into my financial office, paying the bills, etc. I would also use it for my Bible study room.

He was satisfied. 

Last week I got serious about making his office my own. That was a huge endeavor. Some of his stuff was permanently removed. Other materials were moved to the garage. An under-the-counter file cabinet had been purchased. I now could file the current year in the built-in drawer and use the under-the-counter one for the previous year (Income tax time was upon me). Hanging folders and 1/3 cut files were purchased and marked. Then came the filing that hadn’t really been done for an unspecified time.

Side note: the bottom drawer of the new file cabinet kept sliding open. I would shut it and a few hours later as I passed by the doorway I could see the drawer had come open again.

“John, stop messing with me. I’m doing what I said.”

I completed the renovation two days ago. The file cabinet has stayed closed. But I digress. 

In talking with my daughter one day, she asked, “So what are you going to do to have some pink in your office? You told him you would.” 

I instantly thought of a pink cube that I have no idea what to call it, but one of his motorcycle buddies designed it and had given it to him. It’s similar to a Rubik cube, but just has various protrusions and holes. And I knew right where it was.

It now graces a shelf in my office as a reminder of that middle of night conversation.