Whispers in the wind
Time stands still, life moves forward
Two days ago was the two year anniversary since my Dad died. Time is a funny sort of construct, isn’t it? We know it passes. We can see all the tangible ways that we ourselves grow and age slowly over time. How things gather dust when left forgotten about. Flowers bloom and leaves shed. But our memories don’t really work like that, do they. The older we get things start to feel like yesterday and also a lifetime ago. Our minds not complying with the same linear rules applied. If you were to suffer from dementia, it’s what happened longest away that you are likely to recall best. A more firmly established history ending up the easiest to recall.
This year felt different to the last. A little flatter, I suppose. Not sure what to do with myself, or what’s “expected” of me. Life moves on like water flowing downstream. With grief I think it is the distance that I stumble over most. My Dad and memories of him stand still in time, on 28th May 2022. Yet I am becoming a new person, ever evolving. Seemingly moving further away from the last version it was my Dad knew. I find it hard to grapple with. On milestones like this it’s hard not to dwell on what can’t and shall never be. To think ahead of other moments I won’t have. No new memories of my Dad to form. At least not from him. In his own words or actions. I think I understand more now (at least one interpretation) of what it means to lose a part of yourself when someone dies. Their stories of you die with them. And for a parent to die, that means memories he had of who I was when I was small and unable to form ones of my own.
I have found myself more insular this week. Shrinking myself small. Retreating inside myself a little, like a turtle into the safety of its shell; home. Struggling to find the words to articulate how I feel. There are still not many here, so today it’s short and sweet, Drafters, as you shall now from this point on be referred. If I were to ask something of you it would be to think of a memory. One that makes you lightheaded with nostalgia for the moment as you lived it. Transport yourself there for a second and remember that you have lived.
The Orange
By Wendy Cope
At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.
And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.
The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.