Memory Walk
Pondering life, death, and all that comes in between
I laced up my shoes, put on my glasses, and stepped out the door, down the stairs, and out of the building for my daily walk. The sun was barely out when I started but soon enough it was lighting up the sky, erasing the night shadows.
I usually look around me, for flowers, bunnies, or interesting plants, but today, I looked at that big expanse of blue, scattered with white clouds, over my head.
I thought about how a person can be here one minute, and then gone the next. Sometimes you know they’re going, and so do they, so you can say what you need to say, do whatever will give both of you some measure of peace before the end arrives, all too soon. Other times, the going is so sudden that there’s no warning, and no goodbyes.
I’ve had both kinds of leavings in my life, as you might expect for someone who’s been around almost seven decades. I remember Jeff and his sly sense of humor, and how AIDS took him so young. I remember Michele and how she fought the recurrence of ovarian cancer to the bitter end, not wanting to surrender to the inevitable. I remember Bob and his beautiful garden, my Grandma Clara and her stories, my cousin Keith’s circle of friends at his memorial, Robin who fought cancer for more than a decade before it took her last year, and so many more family and friends who have left this world before me.
This walk, though, I spent the time remembering the one who left this earth the day before, facing down cancer for a year and cramming as much life and love into that 12 months as she could manage. One of the kindest and yet toughest people I’ve ever known. She had some bad breaks in life and she just kept going, determined to forge her own path in life as she raised her girls. And now she’s gone, leaving behind a legacy of three wonderful daughters, a loving extended family, and a circle of friends who will all miss her smile and her love.
She loved flowers, and so for the last few months, I’d send her flower photos, from Paris, from London, and from Lancaster (PA). Wherever I was, I looked for flowers so I wouldn’t run out of photos to send. I have more than enough now. So here’s one last flower for you, Cheryl. I wish you could have seen it, it was beautiful. Just like you.
Tears have a wisdom all their own.
(F. Alexander Magoun)
Thank you, it is important to remember life’s fragility and the loved ones in the great beyond who are never far from our hearts.
I'm so sorry to read of your loss. Just this week I was going through papers and printouts that have piled up and found printouts of all the messages I received after Ralph died. I reread them all, and was glad I printed them back then because my saved copy of the Facebook posts was missing comments from anyone who has left Facebook completely, like you. Memories are so important, and I hope the memories of your friend bring you comfort.