Memories are a funny thing. I was chatting with a good friend and, after overcoming the fact that he had just discovered a pair of (for lack of a better description) parachute pants in his long-forgotten wardrobe, I was reminded of how the memories of our past help us keep in touch with our past, help us contemplate our present and help us shape our future.
Until just recently, the memories of my mother would conjure tears more than anything else. The gaping hole that was left in my heart when she died seemed to be a void that would never be filled. But things change. And although time doesn’t necessarily heal the wounds, it allows the wonderful memories of our past to soften the anguish of loss. Time gives us perspective and time grants us those precious moments to realize that the joy of our past can outweigh the sorrow of our present.
As much as I love to write today, I never kept a journal in my youth. Conceivably I did this to protect my privacy, to avoid having my most precious thoughts and feelings perused by an unanticipated reader. But in safeguarding my secrets, I unwittingly buried my past, not only from other observers but, from myself. I unintentionally took pieces of my past and made them disappear by not keeping their light on in the corner of my mind.
This blog is helping me to rekindle some of that lost light. Those corners of my mind that seemed lost in the shadows are now warmed by the light that I am creating each time I publish my thoughts on this blog. Looking back at my past blog posts is a lovely stroll down memory lane and I hope to keep those lights burning for a long time to come.