For remembrance
It's been almost a week; I don't want to go ten days without writing; that's become something of a habit, and I need to nip that in the bud!
These last few days have been especially hard for some reason. I keep remembering little things that didn't used to mean as much: the smell of the air now that Fall is finally inching toward us--particularly at night--the words my contractor said weeks ago running like a CD on repeat over and over again; "I miss the little guy." And imagining what it will be like to meet his friends and family in person, after almost 3 months to the day of talking on the phone or through text messages or Facebook...everything seems to be coming to a head.
I had a nice talk last night with his brother in California. I always feel bad ending the conversation early; it's only dinnertime where he is. But for me, it's usually past my bedtime:) We talked for about a minute about how the trip will probably be one continuous (cheerful) memorial for Michael, sharing stories about this amazing person we've all been so honored to know. And it's hard to deny that it probably will be just that, long after the "official" memorial is just a bittersweet memory of one exceptional Friday night...And I'm sure that will be okay.
We all need the catharsis; that's why the bereaved have a memorial--to get out every emotion, share stories, treasure memories...even if they're sad, even if little things bring up huge sadness--we've come together to help each other through that.
I keep adding little details to my novel. Just minutiae that I thought I"d forgotten, so I never forget it. It had almost slipped my mind that Michael loved Shakespeare. In fact, we looked into buying a house on a street called Rosemary, and we talked about how that would be the perfect tribute to my dad and his grandmother, who would both be so happy to see us together. My dad and I were very close, and he and his grandmother (Ruth, coincidentally my grandmother's name too) were also very close. In Shakespeare's Hamlet Ophelia muses, "there's rosemary, that's for remembrance." See what I mean? everything has a detailed little story.
But it's this kind of thing that makes me think finishing the story of our whole year will take me a few years. There's always a chance everything will come flooding back at once, and before I know it I'll have 1,000 pages of memories. That kind of thing requires a lot of time and reflection, but amazingly, finally, that is exactly what I have:) Now if only I could get past the point of wanting to end every sentence with "oh how I miss him."
These last few days have been especially hard for some reason. I keep remembering little things that didn't used to mean as much: the smell of the air now that Fall is finally inching toward us--particularly at night--the words my contractor said weeks ago running like a CD on repeat over and over again; "I miss the little guy." And imagining what it will be like to meet his friends and family in person, after almost 3 months to the day of talking on the phone or through text messages or Facebook...everything seems to be coming to a head.
I had a nice talk last night with his brother in California. I always feel bad ending the conversation early; it's only dinnertime where he is. But for me, it's usually past my bedtime:) We talked for about a minute about how the trip will probably be one continuous (cheerful) memorial for Michael, sharing stories about this amazing person we've all been so honored to know. And it's hard to deny that it probably will be just that, long after the "official" memorial is just a bittersweet memory of one exceptional Friday night...And I'm sure that will be okay.
We all need the catharsis; that's why the bereaved have a memorial--to get out every emotion, share stories, treasure memories...even if they're sad, even if little things bring up huge sadness--we've come together to help each other through that.
I keep adding little details to my novel. Just minutiae that I thought I"d forgotten, so I never forget it. It had almost slipped my mind that Michael loved Shakespeare. In fact, we looked into buying a house on a street called Rosemary, and we talked about how that would be the perfect tribute to my dad and his grandmother, who would both be so happy to see us together. My dad and I were very close, and he and his grandmother (Ruth, coincidentally my grandmother's name too) were also very close. In Shakespeare's Hamlet Ophelia muses, "there's rosemary, that's for remembrance." See what I mean? everything has a detailed little story.
But it's this kind of thing that makes me think finishing the story of our whole year will take me a few years. There's always a chance everything will come flooding back at once, and before I know it I'll have 1,000 pages of memories. That kind of thing requires a lot of time and reflection, but amazingly, finally, that is exactly what I have:) Now if only I could get past the point of wanting to end every sentence with "oh how I miss him."
Comments