People! If you are looking for the funny, I have a guest post of giggles over at Rhonda’s place.
Her blog is called Laugh Quotes, and my post is entitled Wait . . . what?
Ummm . . . but don’t tell Mark.
Ahem.
Back here . . . I am more thoughtful today.
Check it out.
*******************************************
this is what the words were made
to prophesy
My mother’s mother died when I was in college.
I knew very little of her when she lived, and I know less now.
I have a small collection of gold charms that belonged to her.
Separated from their bracelet after her death, divided up and given to her three daughters.
My mother passed much of her share along to me.
I hold the tiny exquisitely fashioned charms in my hand.
Feel their weight but not their import.
A breath leaves the sentences and does not come back
The stories of these charms and the woman who wore them are lost to me, which makes me sad. My mother has told me that her mother went on many trips all around the world. But the details of the woman who went on those adventures are gone.
the children will not repeat
the phrases their parents speak
There is a small gold rabbit on skis . . . leaning so far forward that he must be racing down the snowy hill, but his ears are implausibly erect above his head.
It makes me smile.
the verb for I
In my mind, I imagine a dark-haired young woman flushed and pleased with her daring run down the mountain. A woman who laughs with joy at her accomplishment and whose eyes sparkle with pride. A woman who regales her friends at dinner that night with the story of how her husband said she couldn’t do it, but by god she showed him. A woman whose husband plays at being annoyed, but who is in fact incredibly pleased that this woman rose to meet his challenge. He wants to let her know how impressed he is with her, and so he buys a small gold skiing rabbit for her to wear on her jingly charm bracelet. He gives her the snow bunny on the airplane ride home and her eyes fill with tears. She kisses him. She will wear the rabbit always.
She will never forget that moment.
And perhaps she never did.
But she never told me of that moment.
nobody remembers
And so now it is gone.
the day is glass
All that remains is a small gold rabbit on skis and my memories of my grandmother.
I have few memories of my grandmother.
My grandmother has been dead for many years, and the words that would have told me of how she came to own that small gold rabbit?
Those words are lost.
nobody has seen it happening
For the most part my grandmother is lost to me.
nobody remembers
The words that would have told me of who she was . . . are gone.
The language of my grandmother is gone.
To my daughters, she is only a woman who once was.
Like many others who once were and are no more.
I have no words to make her come to life before their eyes.
How I wish I did.
How I wish I had the words of a moment when she spoke with a friend.
The words of a moment when she laughed until she cried.
The words of a moment in which she was broken.
The words of a moment in which she was healed.
The words of a moment in which she gazed upon her three daughters.
The words of a moment that was uniquely hers.
I have no such words . . . although they all existed at one time.
Those words are lost.
I know that I will not live forever.
I know that I will one day be gone.
I believe that gone is gone.
So I do not write with some illusion that I will live on through my words.
I will not live on.
But I do not want to leave my daughters with only a handful of trinkets whose significance has died with me.
And I want their children to be able to conjure up in their memory and imagination more than . . . a woman who once was and is no more.
I will be gone.
But I will leave behind the words of a moment when I spoke with a friend.
The words of moments in which I laughed until I cried.
The words of moments in which I was broken.
The words of moments in which I was healed.
The words of moments in which I gazed upon my daughters.
The words of moments that were uniquely mine.
I will leave them gifts with which they can find their way to the woman who once was.
My palms extended.
Here.
here are the extinct feathers
here is the rain we saw
Words are written to capture a moment that will never be again.
The very writing of the words acknowledges this truth.
A breath leaves the sentences and does not come back
The verb for I can only be spoken by me.
This is what the words were made
to prophesy
(With thanks to the poet W.S. Merwin, whose words I found and borrowed.)
Losing a Language . . . by W. S. Merwin
A breath leaves the sentences and does not come back
yet the old still remember something that they could say
but they know now that such things are no longer believed
and the young have fewer words
many of the things the words were about
no longer exist
the noun for standing in mist by a haunted tree
the verb for I
the children will not repeat
the phrases their parents speak
somebody has persuaded them
that it is better to say everything differently
so that they can be admired somewhere
farther and farther away
where nothing that is here is known
we have little to say to each other
we are wrong and dark
in the eyes of the new owners
the radio is incomprehensible
the day is glass
when there is a voice at the door it is foreign
everywhere instead of a name there is a lie
nobody has seen it happening
nobody remembers
this is what the words were made
to prophesy
here are the extinct feathers
here is the rain we saw
You play with my heart in every single way my friend.
I believe you are leaving a great legacy for your daughters and theirs.
This is kind of like the modern day passing of stories. You know, kind of like Native Americans sitting around fires sharing stories and fables that are passed through the ages.
A side note about the guest post: I loved it, read and commented over there. But I wanted to ask. Was that the first instance of “I love you”? It seemed like it.
You are a wonderful user of words.
Russell
Russell -
Thank you for reading and then for commenting . . . I think this may be the sort of post that does not garner a lot of commentary . . . so thank you.
To know that I have touched someone?
Tears.
Love that.
As for your question about the guest post?
Yes.
Kris
I love that your first ‘I love you’ was on a sea of giggles. That is perfect. PERFECT.
I love you my friend, doesn’t matter if you are making me giggle or making me cry. That is the sign of someone very special you know? Someone who can make you laugh so hard from joy and cry so hard but not from hurting you?
Jo -
You give the best compliments, babe.
Thank you so very much for your words here today.
Happy sighs.
Kris
Thank you.
Just thank you.
Cameron -
Love you.
Thank you.
Kris
You do hear your grandmother’s words, for I am certain your mother speaks her words to you without even knowing. I wish all our gramma’s had blogged! Or kept scrapbooks. Or written on the backs of pictures. I remember my Gramma reading poems to me before bed. I read the same poems to my kids before bed and remembered Gramma while doing it. Now I will read those poems to my grandchildren and hope it carries on.
Lovely post.
Teri -
Such a lovely perspective.
Thank you for that.
Kris
That was very deep… very well written as well – as always.Laugh or cry but I always think some after reading your posts.
It kinda fits in the mood I am in. My son’s b-day is today. Time has flown so very fast and it makes me wonder of who he will be and how much of it I will see through him.
I don’t know how much of a legacy I will pass along to my children, I spent a good deal of time when they were young just trying to be there and do all that I could without any backup. Trying to help them grow up to be good people, people with a heart that was open and minds free to believe they could be anything they wanted. Now I watch them becoming who they are and I wonder what they will remember from their childhoods and I wonder if I am doing it all right. My head is crammed of memories of my grand parents and all they gave me to help me grow – I hope that my children have that.
M
Mishelle -
As Jack pointed out in the comment just following yours . . . people are connected.
Each generation impacts the generations that follow it.
Pieces and influences carry on.
I did not mean to say that I was “gone” as if I had never existed.
Only that I ceased to be.
The influence I have on my children?
The influence you have on yours?
That will live.
Tell your son Happy Birthday!
Love you.
Me
I very much enjoyed this but I disagree with you about being ‘gone’ and that is not based upon any sort of religious/theological beliefs or ideas.
Pieces of who we are are passed down via our parents. Some of those things come from their parents who brought it down from their parents.. I see it like a giant chain.
So while I agree that it would be better to have first hand knowledge I am not convinced that ‘gone’ is ‘gone.’
Hey, you.
The chain of which you speak?
I see that and I agree.
I was speaking of my belief that I will not be looking down from anywhere . . . I will be gone.
My daughters will always carry my influence, whether or not they have the words I gathered to speak of that influencing.
As I carry the influence of my grandmother in that she shaped my mother.
My mother shaped me.
So my grandmother is a part of my daughters . . . part of the chain.
But she is gone.
love this, girl…
love you
Happy sighs at being seen and understood.
Thank you, Rene.
Kris
Lovely. Both the poem and your post. I blog to never forget myself, and that one day my kids might have something to show their kids. Remember when grandma was only 21?
They will now.
Amy -
Hee hee!
That sentence is lovely . . .
Remember when grandma was only 21?
I love that.
We spent so much time with my dad when he was in the hospital for those too few months between diagnosis and being gone. Even if I had heard the stories a hundred times, I wanted to hear them once more. I wanted his grandson to hear them. I wanted him to be able to tell them and enjoy the moments one more time before that fucker brain cancer took them all away. Stories need to be dusted off, not hidden away *for special*. Thank you Kris, for keeping up the long tradition of Village Storyteller and inspiring some of us to do the same.
Love & Martinis!
Shawna -
Well, you have made me cry.
Thank you for that.
I see you by your father’s bedside, listening to his stories.
Thank you for that.
Kris
I love this, I really do.
I think it’s why so many of us blog. In my case, I’m not always good at saying what needs to be said. Or known. But it’s easier to sometimes write those things, and I want my daughters to fully know who I am/was. My own parents are still such closed books. Mysteries. I don’t want to be like that.
Madeleine -
Exactly.
I am not saying that after I am gone, everyone will be flocking to read my words.
To know who I was.
But if there is someone who cares?
I want that person to be able to see me.
Thank you.
Kris
Just lovely. This brought up so many emotions/feelings for me. Makes me wish for more words from those that are no longer here.
Thank you for these lovely words of yours.
Lauran -
Sigh . . . yes, a wish for words from those who are no longer here.
Love you.
Me
Love the poem. Love your words.
I am teary.
This has made me think of all the words I will never hear from my grandmother, my grandfather, my father. . .
And even though she has not passed yet? The stories from my Mom.
I think this is why I have finally started sharing *my* stories on my blog.
So that even if I can not speak them? They will be there. Be there for Kaylee to read. For her children to read.
Stasha -
Love to you.
I am so glad you are writing your stories down.
For you.
For your readers today.
And for those who will one day want to know the woman who was once here.
Good job, you.
Kris
Tag:
“there is no such thing as forever except there is.”
Yes.
Hello, you!
I do like when people read my tags.
Today is the very day of my long-gone Grandmother’s birthday. She was my sunshine person. The person who radiated love and caring toward me in a way unparalleled anywhere else. I was lucky.
And the moment she was gone was the same moment that a million questions about who she really was came flooding into my consciousness. What was her first kiss like? What did she regret in her life? If she had her life to live over, would she have made different choices? What made her laugh/cry?
These can no longer be answered…by anyone. And my daughters??? One of my hugest sadnesses in life is that they will never know her more fully than I can remember her. It’s a pale story I can tell them. Sighhhh…
Redemption comes in never forgetting the frailty of life.
Brandy -
Oh, you have perfect words . . .
One of my hugest sadnesses in life is that they will never know her more fully than I can remember her.
And this . ..
It’s a pale story I can tell them.
And this . . .
Redemption comes in never forgetting the frailty of life.
As I did in my post, I will borrow the words of another.
Because yours are perfect.
Thank you.
Kris
kris, you have me in tears here. just the other day, after a long day, i was thinking of my grandmother as i lay in bed….and i was thinking “i can remember her voice in my mind, but i can’t “hear” the sound of it anymore.” – she’s been gone for 3 years now, and the memory is starting to fade. it broke my heart. :( i was so sad. i have been thinking that maybe i have some video of her when she came to visit my daughter at the hospital when she was born, but maybe not. i loved that woman fiercly, my grandfather, too. they practically raised me, and gave me so much, including the values and morals that make me who i am.
sigh. so yes, your words, i hear them. and they make me miss my grandma!
on a good note though – when we were cleaning out her house after she died, i found a box of love letters that my granfather wrote to her from 1944 to 1946 – they met just a week before he was deployed to the navy, and they fell in love through these letters. i am in the process of scrapbooking them all in chronological order, and will read them like a book once i’m done. i love that i have this peice of their past in writing! if my house sets on fire, after the kids, this is the next thing i’m grabbing on my way out the door!
ok – my book of a post is complete now. thank you for a beautiful post! off to get a tissue for my eyes….*sniff*sniff*
Sarah -
My breath and my imagination are caught at the thought that you have a box of love letters from your grandfather to your grandmother.
That is beautiful.
So amazing.
What a lucky granddaughter you are to have that glimpse into who they were.
Sigh.
I just love that.
Kris