When the leaves start falling I’m reminded of the inevitable march of time and change. The sun sits low and stares at midday reminding that a cycle ends and another approaches. The light has a different quality, one of the reminders of the fading year…
Time is the currency of our story and in a time when people struggle more than ever to find meaning, I think of my mother. In a few days, time says she will be 87. But it has been some time since she could make new memories. And the passing of time of those who know her marks the loss of history and memories once made.
In a time when we the people struggle to find meaning, I can think of no greater gift of purpose than to know the face of the one you love before you, one who you have given birth to and sacrificed your own needs and longings for. And the gift of the chance to make a new memory. In a time when people feel meaning in acts of degradation, one-upping, and vengeance, I long for simply being remembered. And the joy of recalling and reflecting on memories made.
And memories to be made.