On
the Morning of December the 31st 2020, the worst year in Living memory
took it's final revenge by closing the doors on my younger Sister
Stella, also known as Sally and Salbo'.
She
was diagnosed a month ago with liver and stomach cancer after having
X-rays for a Hernia but was given a fairly good prognosis which told her
it was 'Incurable But Manageable', so when she was admitted to hospital
she was fully expecting to be treated and sent back home in the new
year. Sadly, things went south and she unexpectedly lost her fight.
We are ALL Shocked! as it's such a waste of a lovely Soul.
Memories, Like Autumn Leaves.
When
we are young, our memory is being fed with all very new sights, sounds
and emotions. Everything is young, tender and vulnerable. Just like the
young buds on a tree in spring.
As we get older and start to grow
through the summer of our life, our memories are filled to
over-flowing. They’re vibrant, clear and passionate. Just like the flora
and fruits of our maturing summer plumage on our tree.
Late
summer, and the fruit ripens and starts to fall to ground. Just like our
memories. Starting to fade now with every passing minute of the day.
Late
autumn and those fresh, vibrant, bright green leaves have turned brown,
golden, red and yellow. They are falling dead from our tree. Our
memories, disappearing as if they’d never existed in the first place.
Summer
holidays, birthdays and happy days. Sad days and violent days,
crumbling into dust as mother nature takes back what’s ‘Hers’ in the
first place.
Winter arrives, and there are still just a very few
leaves clinging on to the sparse, withered branches that gave them so
much life earlier in the year. But come the frost, the snow, the rain
and the wind to eventually ‘flush’ them from all existence. Just like
our memories.
People may think writing down our memories as being
a futile gesture at self recognition. I find, as each day passes,
memories that were so crisp just a few short years ago, are now ‘gone’.
Never to be retrieved from the hard drive of my life. So….I’m writing
them down in a futile attempt that they can cling onto the withering
branches of life for a little while longer.
The memories? They’re
mine, all mine. They’re mine to share with my family, friends and any
strangers that care to look up and see them. They may be old,
discoloured and brittle right now. But once they were just young
vulnerable buds, being nurtured by mother nature.
No comments:
Post a Comment