Wednesday, February 2, 2011


Our memories are all we have left at the end of the day.  All my life I have been a collector of memories, pictures, and stories.  I think my biggest fear is forgetting these things because they are the basis of what forms us.  Alzheimer’s runs in the family.  I know it has not hit everyone in their old age, but chances are fifty-fifty.  This brings me to think that I have to keep writing as much as I can down before I forget.
One day, I hope my children will read the thoughts that contained me.  I want them to know the feelings I lived so that they may remember I existed as a whole being once.  I want them to know that I spent my life always seeking inspiration and enlightenment and was always happy in my space, but never settling for stillness.  I want them to know how proud I already am of them, even if they are only small people now.
If I were to ever look back on what it was that I stood for, it would be that my family and friends would the basis of why I did everything.  I have God in my heart, but I am not religious I think.  I find comfort in rituals and am always trying to seek meaning in the stories told in the Bible.  One must always strive to find what purpose a story, a person, an event or an emotion is trying to teach us.  Just as the Bible teaches us so does an argument or a moment happening before our eyes that we did not realize in our day-to-day that needs to be appreciated.  Everyone needs spirituality, even children.  I think all religions come from the same place and try to go to the same place.
I find that my children teach me daily about laughter and being young and complicated.  I find my daughter inherited the deepness of my husband and myself.  I think she encompasses our creativities and has this heritage to imagine, dream, to wonder, and to always create and express herself.  This she cannot and should not ever contain.  She is easily amused and discouraged at the same time.  She is fragile in some aspects of her personality, but she is also strong and constantly questioning the integrity of everything and everyone.  She wants to prove herself and seems to challenge others to do the same.  She is a friend with all that she is.  She expects this of others and values this high standard trait in the people she surrounds herself with.  She is a little dark, like her father – finds that the oddest things amuse her.  She cares for animals and her brother dearly.  She wants to teach him and keep him safe from harm.  Time to her is relative.
My son appreciates a good regimented day.  He trusts routine and demands this in others.  He is fascinated by how things work.  At the age of two he loves cars, balls, and dinosaurs.  Like his father, he does not want to do anything he is not ready to do.  He does not like not being included in activities and he has a joyful sense of humor.  He is picky about what he eats, but is open to trying new things.  He is very talkative and looks for approval constantly.  He is affectionate and tends to be trusting of most people.  I think he has picked up on the fact that his good looks will get him far.  He does not like when an injustice has been done to him.
I love passionately and am loved passionately by my husband.  I truly have been honored to feel this in my life, to be the object of his loyalty and been given access to his depth and his journey as he evolves as a father, husband, and man.  I enjoy being audience to his intelligence and wish only that he finds his way to make this shine in his lifetime where he is fulfilled.  He fulfills me and he has always brought me comfort when I felt a little lost.  No argument we could ever have could bring me to ever hate him because he is my friend.  My best friend.  I even like him as a person and I always want the best for him and that is saying a lot.  I have been in relationships where I loved someone, so I thought, but not sure I ever really liked them.
I do not want to ever forget these thoughts.  These feelings.  I feel them over and over again every time I think I them.  These are what make us.  These are what make me.  Remembering not to forget.  Age may make its claim in time, but these are mine.  I hope these words continue to live in the people I have touched in my life.  Remembering does not happen within one person.  These must be shared and passed down in order to maintain its own life for others to endure and endear.

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