Those little things we remember

Plan9 triggered a memory of my grandmother darning socks. A memory probably from 50 years ago. One that i haven't recalled if ever, Its almost like I can see her seated in her rocker with her sewing box next to her and 3 or 4 sock needing repair on her lap. I read @Plan9's blog and there it was, like a little movie being played inside my head. Its happening to me more. I'll be talking with my Dad, soon to be 88 and I'll remember something from 40,45 or 50 years ago. Something that only the two of us would now. Lately this has been happening a lot more, I'm not distressed by these thoughts, they almost always positive reminisces. But the frequency of them is striking. It happening a lot. Why? Because my dad isn't in them best of health? I know time is not on our side, Because we don't have opportunities to create new shared memories? A way to relate a cement out father/son bond through reselling of these reminisces? Some of each maybe, why are so many popping up now?

 

Y'know, Craven ... I think you've answered it ... your dad isn't in the best of health and you know time is not on y'all's side.

Because he as an entire person is increasingly in the balance between staying here and passing on, you're more aware of this ALL of him ... and the more that Mortality is on the table, the more of you is sitting at the table when you visit him ... there is no more leeway as it's time to be fully with him and what he ... his entire life-as-you-know-it means.

That's my best response - a floundering one, and some of it is bouncing off the cushion of my recent visits to my mother. She's not particularly ill, but I'm seeing her in a different light from the day-to-days which formed most of the years I've known her. My gut feels certain that it's the 'off the cliff = life before your eyes' thing .... the less life there is to go, the more what was there represents in one splash. Denser and richer ... like relativity ... past and present collapse, in the infinite gravity at the event horizon of the black hole at the end of life's unknown.

All respect to you and your dad, Craven.

 

My grandmother two days before she passed away. She held my hands and said to me " cold hands, warm heart".
Then her wonderful smile.