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Memories and the heaviness of a life
What are our memories but old dusty ghosts, intruding upon a perfect melancholy day?
Ancient shards from before, old photographs without titles, mold-covered papers, and faded cloth.
I have tried to leave these things at the gate, but they will not stay there.
Autumn is the time of memories. Unbidden, they rise up and embrace us, often too tightly.
We carry them, like sheaves of wheat, a burden.
We walk more slowly with these ancient worries and regrets.
Of course, some memories are pleasant.
When my first baby gave me her first crooked smile.
The delight on your face when I told you we were pregnant.
On our honeymoon, that early morning when we saw the dolphins close to shore, and the dolphin baby swam close to us.
Our first fireplace fire in our first house.
But all of these are burnt around the edges with some regret, with some other heavier memory waiting behind them.
The heaviness of a life. They do not tell you this. How heavy it can be to carry.
The heaviness of a life.
