Over the  phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is  Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat  quietly remembering his childhood days. 

"Jack, did you hear  me?" 

"Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I  thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack  said. 

"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how  you were doing.! He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side  of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him. 

"I loved that old house he  lived in," Jack said. 

"You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr  Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she  said. 

"He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be  in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me  things he thought were important...Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack  said. 

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight  to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no  children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away. 

The  night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old  house next door one more time. 

Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for  a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through  space and time. The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held  memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped  suddenly. 

"What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked. 

"The box is  gone," he said 

"What box?" Mom asked. 

"There was a small gold  box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand  times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'"  Jack said. 

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack  remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family  had taken it. 

"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack  said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom." 

It  had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one  day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package.  No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three  days," the note read. 

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package.  The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago.  The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his  attention. "Mr Harold Belser" it read. Jack took the box out to his car and  ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope Jack's  hands shook as he read the note inside. 

"Upon my death, please forward  this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my  life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling  his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful  gold pocket watch. 

Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched  casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words  engraved: 

"Jack, Thanks for your time! -Harold Belser." 

"The  thing he valued most...was...my time." 

Jack held the watch for a few  minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two  days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked. 

"I need some time to spend  with my son," he said. 

"Oh, by the way, Janet...thanks for your  time!" 

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by  the moments that take our breath away,"