Go on upstairs and get to bed, I heard him say. Or something to that effect--it's hard to remember what exactly happened back then, back when days whipped by me like how cars on the freeway are gone in the blink of an eye as you stand there and look out at the sunset while trying to remember where you stowed the jack. Those memories, those times when I didn't think about time, are safe and warm in the heart of my mind. You don't think about every moment when you're, well, in-the-moment, as they say. But I can still recover that smoldering kindle and reignite a fire to invigorate my soul when I want to wallow in sorrow or indulge in pleasant nostalgia. There are dozens of little embers that I still keep--little memories saved throughout the years, all still glowing from when I was young. All from when I was still living in the present. I wish I could gather the fragments of my grandfather into an effigy and recover his flame. I wish Grandma had room left to hold even a spark. Soon, I will be left with just another set of memories. Sooner than my newborn grandson will like, I will become just a set of memories.
27 October 2019
