Today as I was walking on my break, I settled thoughts upon who I have have lost and wish I had been given more time with them. The list went like this:
Marsha
Alan
Uncle Jim A.
My grandmothers.
I am sure there are more if I had the time to contemplate on it. But what and why I miss these people are varied as the people are. I miss the interactions I had with them. The homemade breads, the gentle touch, the listening hearts of them. Each one touched my life and made an impression.
I recall how Marsha and I would sing along to BREAD, the singing group, lol. I think she would have been fantastic had she not dies so young. I wonder if she would have ever been brave enough to come out later in life? Then again maybe that’s why she died, she couldn’t deal with the subject. But as my first real love, I hold a deep tender place in my heart for my adopted cousin.
Alan was a special individual. He saw me. He knew I wanted to write and was so encouraging. He to this day sits framed on my desk, to accompany me in my efforts.
Uncle Jim, he wasn’t my Uncle, but he felt like family from the first time we met. When I was struggling personally with some drama about not seeing my kids, he didn’t hesitate to present me with the opportunity to move and start over. I never took him up on it, and wonder what my life would have been like in Texas. He also introduced the group to Canasta. Those weekly card games are rooted into my memory. All the silly events that took place, the rumors, the gossip, the fun we had are too numerous to put here. I miss those times. I think that is why I want to finish Gayton’s Place, to honor the memory of the friendships I built in the nineties.
Today, a lot of people will journey to gravesites, and place flowers and mementoes upon graves of loved ones to honor them. It seems like there are fewer people who do that now-a-days. I wonder if the lost feel forgotten except on memorial day? Will the grave yards become a thing of the past? Cremation is the most common means of disposing of the dead now. Are the souls up there thinking about us and wondering why we don’t come?
People age and die. People go through daily struggles and joys, yet we only remember them when we have a day that screams at us to.
Who have you lost? Who do you remember? Will there be anyone to remember you? And did you or I make a difference?
A good writing, death is not just to remember the world, but as a responsibility for something done in the world.