“this is my story, actually this is my life and the memories i have of it.”
his daughter sat inches away studying the lines and furrows that make up six decades of joy, heartache and journey. he looked down at the collection of books, journals and slips of paper with his handwriting on them. a tear welled in his eye. it indeed was a blink of the eye. one moment he was a young man holding his newborn daughter in his arms. her innocence and joy brought into the world mere months ago.
he thought about the thirty years that brought him and her to this moment. the sun played with distinctive patterns through the lace curtains dancing in the light breeze of this lazy afternoon. thirty years. thirty years. it was a long time to have memories. to recollect them in this moment felt a bit overwhelming. as he looked at his daughter he remembered the weekend afternoons walking his daughters to the playground, the evenings cooking dinner while she and her sister played with their dolls i the living room. there were too many memories to recall in just one afternoon. and precisely why he wanted to sit with her today. it was time to pass on his memories, his dreams, ideas and experiences that he had collected in paper and pen.
a few years before he had lost his mother to cancer. they had several conversations in the months and week before. conversations that he wished he had before the sorrow. the days after she left for her immortal journey he walked through her apartment to collect her belongings. here was her life. here was a physical accumulation of her thoughts, dreams and memories. an old record player with a Johnny Mathis record o it. pictures of all her children, grand and great grand children covered one wall. notes scribbled on an old electric bill, reminders for doctor appointments and a shopping list. he was immediately overwhelmed as he could still hear her voice and for a moment, a brief second he could smell her perfume like she had just walked into the room.
he didn’t want to wait to the end to have these conversations with his daughters. he didn’t want them to search through his belongings, his decades of memories and dreams without first having the conversations that would give final definition to their relationship. that afternoon, while the sun played its shapes and dances with the lace curtains in the room, there were tears, there was laughter and most importantly there was a bonding of generations. the fluidity from one generation to another took place as it only can, through words, emotions and love.
The Journey of a thousand miles 