You Are Not Forgotten

 

There have been times, many times

 

When you felt small, very slight

When you woke up and thought maybe your efforts were not of consequence

Maybe no one would miss you. Or remember you.

I have felt good on those days, when it was me, because the world was my oyster.

But you, you felt worse, that things didn't matter, life didn't matter.

For me, I was going to do something, write something, think something, learn something.

The world was vast, from the scraps of newspapers under my bed, to the books on the shelf and on the ottoman, to the radio in my car to the phone call across the way...

 

 

Melancholies be damned.  Pardon. Forget the sadnesses, because it all comes and goes...

 

Television has its angles and voices, too. Plus the ever tempting computer and other media devices.

Every year more.

For you, who only knew the world of social media and it ambivalence, its grotesqueness,

It may seem pointless.

We of the generation of the mighty Neil Young and the 13 channels of nothing on,

the post Ernest Hemingway and his modernist nada a nada.

Nihilism and Camus' existentialism and questioning the meaning of it all,

Rock and roll artists drinking and drugging themselves into oblivion, sharing some of the tremendous angst and passion of it all.

Jim Morrison, the psycho and creep, gifted poet and reckless or feckless prophet of doom...

No, they are not forgotten. He is not, I am not. And neither are you, trust me.

I remember you, when you were a suckling baby.

I remember you, when you cried big crocodile tears.

I remember you, when you got back from your classes.

I remember praying over you, with you, singing, playing.

I remember, I remember.

You are not forgotten.

I remember those days and nights when you thought you were alone, or off with others far from me.

You thought that my mind and heart, that my soul was not with you.

But it was. I was with you, or at least my mind was.

I remember.

I remember when we first met,

How you looked, looked at me; I looked back at you.

You smiled, I remember.

I will not forget how I felt, how I told my mother that I met someone.

I remember meeting up, going out, sharing my world, my life.

 

 

I remember waiting for a disagreement, because otherwise I was not sure if it was all real enough. 

That took weeks, months.

I remember thinking that that was a good indication of things.

A hub bub about when to get engaged.

I remember.

I remember trips to the beach, to the boats, of all kinds,

The times at church, driving, babysitting, shopping, studying, grading...

I remember talks and walks and family visits and conversations.

I remember, and sometimes I forget. And then I remember again.

I remember the meals, the deals, the late night steals.

I remember sharing time and games, sometimes they were not yours, but you shared.

So, yeah.

You are not forgotten.

I wanted to remember to say that.

We are blessed to have memories, and to remember.

We are not forgotten.