Memories are for Sharing

Memories are for Sharing

I’m several years out of my divorce and many more years out of my marital home and it’s just starting to hit me. I’m sure I preemptively grieved the lost memories. I cried enough to have grieved everything that could possibly come up… but here it is again. This time for the lost memories.

Not long ago I heard a song on the radio that I used to sing to my kids, even as teens, to get them up in the morning. It was the Beatles ‘Good Day Sunshine’ combined with words from ‘Dear Prudence.’ “The sun is up, the sky is blue. It’s beautiful and so are you.” This time when I heard it it brought tears. My kids are grown and off on their own. No more morning songs.

Four days ago was my second son’s 33rd birthday. 33 years ago he was born to his dad and I and a 16 month old older brother who was hanging on my arm saying, “Beebee? Beebee?” We birthed Nathan in our little cabin in the mountains. Nathan’s dad had read an EMT manual a week prior, we sterilized a bunch of stuff (that we ended up not using due to the speed of everything), and trusted God… cuz it was God’s idea in the first place that we have this child at home by ourselves. (But that’s another story.)

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That November morning was cold, gray, spitting snow. Much like today. We built a fire completely forgetting that we had a brand new furnace installed by Grandpa. That was also the morning Dad opened the door to clobber my Newfoundland for barking only to discover it was a bear that was walking up next to the house. (No wonder the dogs were barking.) He quickly closed the door at that realization.

I think the idea, the grand design if you will, is to have a spouse with whom to share the memories. Dad is still around. I suppose I could call to reminisce… but why? To punctuate the fact that we are no longer together? To re-remember all the hurts of separating and parting out our family? To fan the flame of memories lost? I don’t think so. Those memories will live in my heart alone. Their father and I will have our separate memories, and separate celebrations with a gulf fixed between us. History lost.

“You take the memories with you” my new husband once said to me. This is true… but I think that without sharing the stories they diminish, or get distorted, or somehow lose their vibrancy. Memories are meant to be shared. Stories have tied families together for generation upon generation.

Maybe my blogs will become the medium of shared stories for my children and grand children.

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