Rekindling Memories
Not letting go of someone is keeping something of them inside or with us
The dead live in my phone. There are names of those who have passed away and numbers of those long gone. Like AB, my old badminton partner, a soft-spoken serene individual, ever smiling and forgiving my late arrivals, pourer of generous whiskies, and steadfast friend on my toughest days.
He died a while ago, and so did JH, a writer whose stories flowed like a never-ending river, each time taking you to someplace new. If I delete their numbers, I feel that something ends, as if I’m erasing them once and for all from my life. It sounds irrational, but perhaps it’s why you keep your late grandmother’s pen which doesn’t work. Everyone finds different ways to keep the dead alive.
After a certain age, we become accustomed to the passing of things: bell bottoms, vinyl records (go ask your dad), the XXX at the end of a girlfriend’s letter, a tree we swung on. Only when a thing, or person, is gone do we properly understand our attachment to them.
I am fascinated by the act of remembering and discovered that even elephants, as National Geographic once…
