Memories seem to be packaged emotions staked up on a shelf somewhere in the mind, labeled “happy” and “sad.”
As we grow older I've noticed we go to that shelf more and more often, especially when chatting with old friends.
However, when I open these packages when I'm alone, I have some that I visit most often.
I remember my old dog Sport, he was the family dog, perhaps with the family before I was born. I could do whatever I wanted with him and he easily showed his love.
He used to follow me to the neighborhood grocery store, Piggly-Wiggly, and one evening as we crossed the street he was hit by a car. “You killed my dog, you killed my dog,” still rings clearly in my mind as he lay there at the curb and there's always at least one tear after all these years.
When my brothers were alive, we shared our tears.
I'll share another memory, for these are memories that shape one's life. This is a warm one, one of my mother holding my little hand and putting it in the pocket of her coat to keep it warm on a cold winter day as we walked home.
It seems that all happy members have another side. I remember how dear she was when I was taken to her death bed when I was nine. She died of a rare paralyzing disease that I've learned is easily curable today.
Memories shape who we are inside, but day-to-day life shapes who we are on the outside. One never knows another person until they share their important memories. This is difficult to do because it exposes our soft more vulnerable side and who really are.
These are the most important memories of the many other important ones and they must not be left as forgotten events. We become human, new and fresh in their disclosure. I share them with you who are my dear friends. Sharing memeories is one way of finding who one really is.