My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Revisiting Memories
Memories are best shared with those for whom they have meaning, by people who helped create them. But sometimes there is no one who can see their meaning, who can relive what was shared. It is then all right to visit them alone. It is a place that has to be seen and held even though in making them real the aloneness may make them sad.
Labels:
loneliness,
meaning,
memory,
sadness,
sharing
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This made me cry today, it was a cry I needed.
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