Hand-stitched quilts of old in every room; the love in them will never wash away or fade. She “touches” my hand whenever I touch her works.

Charlie and Momma are no longer on this “level.” I still experience that stage of separation when loved ones of many years are only temporarily away. Memories refuse to fade, instead, come alive, vividly stand out to take my breath away with a knowing pain in my solar plexus that beg a tear. Yet, the memories offer joys of the past.

My personal library keeps me interested. I pull out books that have been asleep on shelves, surprised to find an autographed copy of Dequincey’s writings 148 years-old with his portrait and the signature of an interested party for whom he autographed the book. Next to Dequincey, I pull from the shelf “The Rubayat of Omar Khayam” by E. Fitzgerald, copyright 1951 (Omar Khayam was the astronomer-poet of Persia, born in the latter half of the 11th century).

The stillness, except for the ticking of the turning of the pages and the ticking of three pendulum clocks emphasizes time, the now and the past. The old Bible opens to reveal a piece of cloth, used as a bookmark 100 years ago … a swath, perhaps, of an old apron. I focused on that piece of cloth and felt arms around my shoulders. Love surrounded me with a moment of the past; the bitter and joyous moments that make up one’s life while temporarily on this Earth, never alone or lonely.

Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but moments, many of which are forgotten today, yet are registered deeply and indelibly on our subconscious; for they are the moments that make the difference in our lives.

Painful emotions are useful as stepping stones to wisdom, forgiveness, compassion and courage. Never a completed process but a means to open the heart to the vivid experiences of life as it is; awake to the present moment, the moment where life truly exists. In the words of Henry Vandyke, “Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice … but for those who love, time is eternity.”

Respectfully submitted,

Marya Silverthorn

Chesaw