I was in the mall today for the first time in years. I used to take my kids when they were little so they could ride the elevator and escalator. Up and down. Down and up. Hours, they'd go on the stairs and the little glass elevator. They loved it. The place was air conditioned; it was free; it was close. We'd buy a single cookie and divide it into four.
Here's the thing. The people I went with have no memory of those trips. Or practically any other. They have no memory of thousands of hours--the years of life we shared. Those people are long gone.
When I think of that, I suddenly felt a little lost--that sensation you get when you remember times of shared love and laughter ....and you realize that you are the only one still alive who remembers those particular incidents. And then I realized that with each passing year, there will be more and more memories like that until there's virtually nothing but the ghosts.
I just said something along these lines to Mike.
He points out that the times the boys and I shared are in their DNA. They don't remember doing all those trips, those pictures, those silly games, but the times are part of who they are. I like that. I don't feel it at the moment. But I like it. He says, "but be my guest, feel all lost and lonely if you want."
Just like him. One moment say something sweet and then blow it by being ubersnark. Sheesh.
Okay. I don't want to feel autumnal. I think I'll do some more Burn Notice instead. Escapist television, take me away. . . But now the pain of loss is lodged in me and I'll have to wait until it melts in its own sweet time. Wait out the sorrow. Sloughing off doesn't come easy in the autumn. Ugh.