Honoring the Living

I have just spent the week with my sisters doing many sister things that are not only fun, but funny. We have a rich history full of stories. If one is contemplating mathematics, then life is a story problem. If one is contemplating life, then life is a series of interlocking stories. We had many stories.

However, our stories interlocked without actually meshing. Our memories have colored the stories. Some philosopher said that there is no reality, only perception. I believe he may have been on to something there. Our memories are colored by our own retelling of our stories. And retelling of stories usually leads to the telephone game phenomenon. There is also the possibility that in telling or remembering, we temper the story in a light that makes the teller or rememberer glow in a more flattering aura.

But mostly our stories match. If we go back and forth and try to find the points of agreement, we can paint what may – but only may – be a more accurate picture. There are definite points of agreement in all our stories. There are stories that my sisters have that I don’t even have a faintest glimmer of recollecting. I’m sure that some of my stories are foreign to them as well. Does that make the story unreal or only singular?

We went through many pictures that were developed as slides for the early 1970s. Amazingly enough, many of them were absolutely beautiful. There were gorgeous pictures of flora and fauna as well as landscapes and suns lowering or raising – really difficult to tell which. There were fewer pictures of people. But there were enough pictures that we will have a memory enhancer for later in life.

Our vacation was a testament to our mother for raising daughters who would love, cherish, and wheedle for a chance to get together. Many families fight amongst themselves and we are blessed with a family that knows that we are all we have against the cruel and uncaring world. Our family and families are the saving grace against a heartless and distant universe. That is a lesson that cannot be taught in school, but must be learned through assimilation rather than rote.

We are orphans now. But I still have these parents living in my head and heart. This past week has been a homage to the parents I carry with me. They run through my head whispering that this or that is the right thing to do. They live in my soul reminding me that there is proper and improper way to be in this world. They taught me that my sisters are my roots and the roots of any plant must be as nurtured and cared for as the leaves and flowers.

Even though we spent many hours remembering our dead parents, I believe that we spent our days honoring the living legacy they left behind. Mom and Dad are dead, but Mom and Dad live on through loving daughters, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.