The ceremonies and emotional snares reeled me in. It seems that we like to remember. I certainly do my share; most of my sentences start with the preamble, "remember when ...". That can be annoying to someone who suffers from memory impairment, which is me most of the time. There is a certain comfort in remembering and reliving "old times", even the painful ones. We find refuge in ritual and solace in monuments, even if they happen to be scraps of paper with shaky handwritten sentiments.
This desire, this need to memorialize monumental moments and events in our lives is a way of retaining or even creating something tangible out of that which is no longer so; it provides touchstones and resuscitates; it breathes life into thought, and permits a visitation with the past - however fleeting.
When the mood strikes me, usually when I set out to clear the clutter, or clean out my room, I rummage in my bookcase and old shoe boxes and sort through the random old photos and the collection of cards and letters I have saved. I pull out my mother's spiral-bound journals and read the notes that appear in her beautiful handwritten script: affirmations, wish lists, shopping lists, thoughts, reminders and health tips. I hear her voice reciting as I read her words. I feel serene in that which she left behind.
Remembering ... embers of precious and pain that remind us what it means to live and to have lived. - Lyn