“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”
― Washington Irving
This week I started packing my parents items in my home. My daughter had asked if I would do this because they do not visit enough to know what came from where. Therefore, I said I would do so and write the stories that went with them, as I remember to the best of my abilities.
I started in the kitchen.
As I looked at the pots and pans, cast iron skillets and utensils, I began to cry. It was like burying my mom all over again and packing up the things I brought to my house and remembering how the four of us divided things up. Now two brothers are gone as is the things they had that was Mom’s.
Stopping the process of packing. I sat and thought about that time so long ago and how hard it was to go back through and think of how many hours she had cooked those great meals that we probably never thanked her for or said how great they were.
The time is past and it is necessary for the next generation for me to tell the stories so my mom lives on after me. My two children remember her but she never saw my grandchildren.
No one calls her name that I know. I talk to her and Daddy. I talk to Raggedy Ann every morning and night and tell her my stories; the stories of growing up on a farm way the back side of nowhere; wanting to escape and now not being able to find my way back.
Isn’t life strange? Always longing for what we had after it is gone; realizing the worth after the fact; rejoicing over the good times and grieving for the lost times.
Learning to sit in the silence (yes, I know that is the name of a book, however, I said that phrase before I knew there was a book) can be helpful. Weighing the merits of my own life and what I will live behind.
What will they remember about the things I leave behind? They can not have any memories because they were not here when I purchased most of my things. My house was filled with family items. So I guess my stories are two fold…my past, their past.
I do not want to stay here, neither do I want to go back. Mother and Daddy were so proud that I had made my way away from the farm to a better place. Little did they realize that they were in the best place.
Thank you for reading and if you feel like making a comment, please do. I never know what to write anymore.