The moment that you died my heart was torn in two, one side filled with heartache, the other died with you. I often lie awake at night, when the world is fast asleep, and take a walk down memory lane, with tears upon my cheeks. Remembering you is easy, I do it everyday, but missing you is heartache that never goes away. I hold you tightly within my heart and there you will remain. Until the joyous day arrives, that we will meet again.
We met in kindergarten. We were best friends. She always told me she loved my eyes. I didn’t quite know why. I was in love with her, so of course my face lit up immensely whenever she said it She was beautiful, kind, and extremely funny. We’d be talking about nothing, and she’d turn to me and whisper, “I like your eyes.” One day, I was playing basketball, waiting for her to drive over to my house to have a game with me. Suddenly, I got a phone call. It was her mom. She was in a panic. I couldn’t... Read more »
The 92-year-old, petite, well-poised and proud lady, who is fully dressed each morning by eight o’clock, with her hair fashionably coiffed and makeup perfectly applied, even though she is legally blind, moved to a nursing home today. Her husband of 70 years recently passed away, making the move necessary. After many hours of waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, she smiled sweetly when told her room was ready. As she maneuvered her walker to the elevator, I provided a visual description of her tiny room, including the eyelet sheets that had been hung on her window. “I... Read more »
Some lives which grace the earth with their beauty only are here to stay for a very short time. It's sad, because we want them to be here as long as we are, and we miss them from the moment they've passed until the moment we do. No matter how brief, carry the memory of the joy they brought to you. If it had been you who passed, you would not want them to mourn your loss the rest of their days. They don't want that for you, either.
It was like noticing the sun. You couldn't help but see it, to turn to face the heat of it, to bask in the glory of it. But often when the sun is high in the sky, the moon is up there, too. A dim memory of what she will be in the night, but there, nonetheless, dim and misty, hard and white. At night, there is only the moon, the sun is nowhere to be seen. There are no distractions when the moon rules the sky.
Memory has its own special kind. It selects, eliminates, alters, exaggerates, minimizes, glorifies, and vilifies also; but in the end it creates its own reality, its heterogeneous but usually coherent version of events; and no sane human being ever trusts someone else's version more than his own.