Lucerne, Switzerland, is a leap back in medieval time. Crossing the long, covered Chapel Bridge into old town, we discover a maze of cobblestone streets, narrow alleys, and small shops. Exploring the town, however, has to wait as the Alps loom in the near distance, drawing us to hike and explore. Beautiful Lake Lucerne at the center of town invites a boat cruise along with a steep cable train ride up the side of a mountain. Near the end of our short stay, we seek a few gifts for our family—no chocolate, clothes, or typical tourist trinkets but something uniquely Swiss that speaks to us and excites our children. We wander into a tiny shop with exquisitely crafted wooden music boxes, knowing our search has ended. At first, we purchase two boxes for daughters but later return for one more that is simple and elegant with an enchanting melody. It occupies a special place in our home.
We take many other trips, but Washington, D.C. is not on our list until my aging Uncle Steve decides to move to the Soldiers’ Home. Soon after, we visit and walk around the Smithsonian Mall, as Uncle Steve accompanies us. He may be mistaken for a homeless person because of his ragged clothes, and he practically lives in his beloved, cream-colored, cable knit sweater with holes in the sleeves and missing buttons. Over the years, it is always difficult to find gifts for him, but a new sweater is needed. We find a handsome replica with a quality label and proudly present it to him. He accepts our gift graciously.
A return trip to Washington, D.C. affords the opportunity to visit Uncle Steve again, sleep in a spartan room at the Guest House, eat cafeteria food, walk around the grounds, and play poker with him in the evenings. Family photos cover the walls of his small room. His is a simple life; he is a proud man with a huge heart and heavy sense that life is winding down. The air chills in the late afternoon as we take our walk, and he wears his old cable knit sweater. When we ask about our gift, he comments that “Harold liked the new sweater.” Uncle Steve gave it away! He does not need it, best that one of his friends enjoy it. It is clear that our gift-giving is an exercise in futility. He needs nothing except the sun to come up another day to celebrate his quiet presence on the earth.
A few years pass, and he makes a trip to Oregon, traveling the entire distance by train. We love having him with us in Eugene. I take him to the “Civil War” football game (University of Oregon versus Oregon State University) in Corvallis, and he drinks the bar dry at a friend’s tailgate party! He especially loves going to the beach, although walking on the sand is becoming difficult for him. We sense that it might be his last trip to Oregon, given his weakening physical condition, so we wonder once again about a gift. We do not wish to buy more stuff that he discards or gives away. He enjoys our family photo albums and hearing stories of our trips. His attention to detail is acute, and he often asks me to repeat the most memorable stories. He already has tons of photos in his room; and another album will only add to the clutter.
One evening near the end of his visit, he sits in our front room, relaxing and dozing. Some gentle music would be nice, so I reach for my Swiss music box and place it near him. He slowly opens his eyes and searches for the sound. I wonder if he has ever seen a music box before, but no matter, he is enchanted. The melody embraces his soul. I tell him the story of finding it in Lucerne. He listens to it continuously, opening it first thing in the morning.
We finally find a gift for Uncle Steve. At first, he refuses it, sensing it is very special to us, but after we insist, he accepts. The last time I visit him at the Soldier’s Home, the music box is on a small shelf next to his bed. The soft music carries him away to a different time and space, a place of the heart, inviting reflection and celebration of life. After he dies, I bring the music box back to our home. There are days when I open it and remember the gift of his life. He loved completely, and I have little doubt as to why we were inexplicably compelled to purchase a third music box. We bought it for him alone.
Steve, what a lovely story. What a gracious man he must have been, with an ear for the subtle sounds of a music box. Maybe he heard such subtlety in his daily living. His giving away the sweater reminds me of a fella I know in Eugene who when given $40 dollars one month because he was broke, gave the money to someone else who “needed it more,” as he said. Blessings to all the kind hearts of the world. -Darrell