There was a message in my inbox that I allowed to sit for more than a week before I responded to it. It was from someone I knew, I thought he was a friend, but he changed everything. In his message, he referred to me as a lost friend. I was nonplussed, I was not lost at all, how can I be lost, when he didn't even look for me.
I know, I know, relationship changes, priorities, life moves on. The purpose has been served, so off he goes. I have this concept, though that life is like a suitcase, you take everything with you, sure, the load becomes heavy, cluttered, unorganized, then we learn to fold things away, set aside, not necessary lose them or unload them.
I cherish my past, good or bad, I learned from it all, made me stronger and hopefully a better person from when I was. I hang on to them, the memories of a joyful past, the pains of a cruel encounter, the sting of a tongue lash, not to savor but to remember. Making certain that it remains a memory, not be relived nor repeated.
Aging with joy...jauncing through life, like it's the first time, a great discovery, sharing experiences about my life as an elderly woman. There is joy in aging indeed, there is wisdom earned. The wisdom to believe, to cook brazenly and to eat wisely.
2 comments:
I guess this is really part of life: when people drift away. Some drift away with the currents of life's humdrum, others sail away from you.
I'm currently writing an article about this, having had read several student essays where they mention "losing" a friend as moments that define them. It's a painful reality but that's it: a reality.
“Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flow’r; we will grieve not, only find strength in what remains behind…”
–William Wordsworth.
Let me know or send me a link, would be interested in reading it.
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