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Sunday, January 16, 2011

Fragments of Time

     Time is the hardest part of mortality.  Time moves on relentlessly whether we go quietly or rage in desperation.  We parcel it into clicks on a clock and squares on a calendar. We save fragments of crystal moments to reassure ourselves the moments were true, we did live, we did love, we did matter.   
     Time, not to be outdone, asserts its power.  A sudden freak accident hits a boy in the head with a hockey puck and his memories are suddenly gone.  Alzheimer's wraps its tendrils around a woman's brain, leaving her daughter mourning their lost moments. 
     Today I held my grandma's sacred fragments, sorting them from the clutter that comes from living, knowing that something would be lost. Matchbooks from favorite places, keys to unknown locations, a broken tape recorder with an unheard message, silver watches, childhood games, and the bullets my grandpa left behind when he died years before.  
     Like my grandma, I gather fragments of special times. A lock of my baby's hair, flower petals that smell of summer, love letters and stuffed animals, crayon scribbles and notes from my children, pictures of people and places I love, ticket stubs, and feathers. Sacred to me, but worthless to those who don't know their stories.
     At the lowest point of my life, I prayed for the courage to choose life.  As I walked off the pier, a feather fell from an empty sky.  A feather of faith. 
     Whenever I reach those moments, feathers follow me throughout the day.  I smile in delight and feel my faith renewed.  Even in my darkest hours, I am never alone.  My guardian angel watches over me with a few less feathers.  I carry it inside and place it tenderly with the others.  Sacred fragments of faith that will someday sit in someone's hand as they try to sort my life.    

1 comment:

  1. Beautiful writing...powerful imagery. I love reading your words, so full of hope.

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