In Thornton Wilder’s famous play, “Our Town,” love blossoms  between a young girl and boy. Emily and George marry and have a baby. But this isn’t a happy-ever-after script, for Emily dies giving birth to their second child.  A lesser  author might have cast George into another romance and produced the  customary happy ending. But Wilder was after something else, something so true it’s painful for us to recognize. Emily, who has just died, begs for one more day of life. The stage manager ( a stand-in for God?) hears Emily’s plea and allows her to decide the day. ”I choose my 12^th birthday” she says, ”and I want the whole day.”

So Emily is allowed to return to her childhood and to see herself at 12, rushing home from school to tell her parents something that’s excited her. But although her parents love her, they’re too busy to pay attention. Her mother’s  focused on preparing dinner and Father is  thinking about his job. So they give distracted replies to their child. Emily was too young at the time to understand what was  being lost, but the adult  who’s leaving life forever cries out,  “Why didn’t we take time  to look at  one another?” Sorrowful at seeing “all we didn’t notice,” Emily can’t bear to witness more.  “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it – every minute?” she asks. The answer in the play and for us is “No.””

The  truth isn’t something only Emily faces, but that might come to us one day. How much do we  understand what’s being asked beneath the surface of words, or see the pain or hope  in someone’s eyes? “Look at me for one minute as though you really saw me,” Emily cries  out when it’s too late.

This autumn of another year, I find myself mourning the loss of loved ones,  but also the lost moments of connection that may never come again.  I don’t want to be left with, ”I understand,” or “Forgive me,” as words I meant to say and failed to. Opening our heart to another’s is an exercise we could all benefit from.