The paper was hidden in a brown bag. It was her late father’s bucket list, written on three pages torn from a notebook. Laura Carney looked down at it, then she glanced up at her husband. Without a word spoken, they both knew: “I needed to finish it,” says Carney, 46.

Her brother, David, was the first to spot it. He uncovered the treasure in 2016—13 years after their father, Michael Mick Carney, was tragically killed when he was 54 by a distracted driver.

The list, Carney says, was written in 1978, the year she was born. It had 60 tasks, five of which had already been checked off. One was marked “failed”. That left 54 items for Carney to complete. The tasks ranged from relatively simple tasks, like “grow a watermelon,” to more complicated ones like “correspond with a famous celebrity”. Several tasks were seemingly impossible. Still, Carney was not discouraged. For Carney, the bucket list was an unexpected opportunity to work through her pain and reconnect with her dad.

“The first couple ones that I did happened organically,” Carney says. She had already signed up for a marathon, which allowed her to check “run 10 miles straight” off the list.

Another item she completed early on was “talk with the president.” She learned that former President Jimmy Carter—who would have been president when Carney’s father wrote the list—taught Sunday school in Georgia. She and her husband flew there to meet him.

While Carney completed many of the bucket list tasks on her own—including a two-week trip to Europe— “it didn’t really feel like I was doing things alone, because I knew my dad was with me,” she says. “I feel like my relationship with him is very present.”

Carney’s brother and mother accompanied her for some activities, and her husband joined her for others. “After about the first year or two of doing this project, he would say to me that the person he had always seen in me was coming out,” Carney says. “I had all these layers of sadness and fear that I was leaving behind.”

There was only one last task left on the list: “Have five songs recorded”.

So she decided to write her own bucket list.

The motley (混杂的) looking group of eleventh graders didn’t look like any “honors” U.S. History class I’d ever imagined. They shuffled (拖着脚步走) into my classroom, which I had painstakingly decorated with Presidential portraits and colorful maps.

Fresh out of college with a degree in history, a teaching certificate, and not a lick of experience, which was what I was.

“Good morning,” I said brightly. I was greeted with vacant stares. “I am so excited to have been selected to teach this honors class,” I continued. “They usually don’t let first-year teachers do that.”

Several of the students sat up straighter and cut their eyes at each other. Too late, I wondered if I should have tried to hide the fact that I had zero teaching experience. “First off, let’s rearrange these desks,” I said. “I like lots of class discussion, so let’s put them in a big circle so we can all see each other’s faces.”

Several of the kids rolled their eyes, but they all got up and began scooting (拉) the desks out of the traditional straight rows. “Perfect! Thanks. Now, everybody choose a seat and let’s play a game. When I point to you, tell me your name. Then tell me what you hate most about history.”

Finally, some smiles. And lots more as our game progressed.

Amanda hated how history seemed to be all about war. Jose didn’t like memorizing names and dates. Gerald was convinced that nothing that had happened in the past was relevant to his life. “Why should I care about a bunch of dead white guys?” was how he put it. Caitlyn hated tricky true-or-false questions. Miranda couldn’t stand fill-in-the-blank tests.

Armed with the feedback my students had given me, I began formulating a plan. No teaching straight from the textbook for this group. No “read the chapter and answer the questions at the end” homework. These kids were bright. My honors class deserved to be taught in a way that would speak to them.

Our courses were somewhat different from traditional ones.

During our final workday, the principal called me into her office for my end-of-the-year evaluation.

It was my sixth-grade year. I was overjoyed when the U. S. Navy band came to perform in our town. It was an event I’d never forget, and one instrument stood out above all others. That day, at 12 years old, I fell in love with the heavenly sound that came from the trumpets (小号), and a dream was born. Someday, I wanted to join a military band onstage as a guest performer.

My father took notice of my enthusiasm and bought me a used trumpet. I practiced every day, training my lips, mastering my breathing, until I felt at one with the instrument. I made first chair and played trumpet through high school. “Someday I’ll play along with a military band,” I told my friends. The details I left to God to figure out, while I pursued a more practical life course. Rather than declaring a performance major in college, I studied to be a music teacher.

Now I was blessed to be at this military band concert, a magic al after noon that had brought with it a trip down memory lane.

After the concert, I made my way to the stage to thank Colonel (上校) Carino, the conductor of the military band. When he learned I taught music in town and played trumpet, he invited me to play a trumpet solo (独奏) at their next concert in the park.

A solo? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken my trumpet out of its case. I doubted I’d even be able to get a decent note out of it. “Sir, that’s impossible. I’m sorry, but there’s no way.”

“In the Army,” the colonel thundered, “you don’t say no!”

I felt scared and trapped. Yet, a lingering thought took root: “Is it possible that life is opening the door to my childhood dream?” I said yes to the invitation. I knew I had to do my part and practiced for hours every day. My lips swelled and then bled.

As time passed, Colonel Carino took an unexpected role in my preparation.

We had just relocated to Germany and moved into a big and old country house with a mysterious abandoned wine cellars (地窖), which my husband warned me many times not to explore without him. After settling down, we began slowly releasing our large family of rescue cats and dogs into the woods behind our house so that they could get used to the area and venture out on their own. So, it wasn’t long before we gained a reputation for having lots of rescue animals with us in the neighborhood.

One day, the doorbell rang and I was sure some of my Christmas packages had arrived. I ran to the door and swung it open, but no one was there. I sensed something and looked down, only to find a beautiful calico (有斑点的) kitten sitting there, looking up at me with big, intelligent eyes. There was no way that she could have rung the doorbell by herself, was there? Were my new neighbors playing tricks on me? Perhaps, someone had found the kitten somewhere and left her there, and then rang the doorbell and ran away. They accurately guessed we would welcome an additional family member and take care of her.

My husband called her our little angel, so we named her Angelica accordingly. It seemed as if she was always meant to be in this big family and she turned out to be a perfect companion. Always by my side, she was more like a puppy than a kitten. Wise beyond her years, she enjoyed exploring through the mysterious house as much as I did, but with much less fear. Angelica was courageous.

So, I decided to be brave, too. I had promised my husband that I wouldn’t explore dangerous areas unless he or someone else was around, but he was away on a business trip for a week and I figured that Angelica would count as my companion. I was ready to explore the cellar, and so was she.

The only way in was through a hatch (盖子) that was partially hidden by the grass that covered it, then down a shaky ladder to its dark depths, probably twelve feet deep. I equipped myself with a good flashlight and warm clothes. Angelica sat on the edge and watched me carefully start down the ladder. Suddenly, there was a crash at the foot.