This
random memory has haunted me all day. I don't even know why I
remembered it when I did; there was no trigger, no spark. And yet there
it was, in the forefront of my mind, impossible to shake. So I had to
remember it, relish it for the emotions it forced me to relive.
I'm about six years old. We are piling into the car after saying goodbye to my great grandparents after driving hundreds of miles for a visit. We had one of those station wagons with a "way back" seat that faced behind the car. Oh, the faces and gestures we made to innocent travelers over the years! ;)
I remember we were pulling away and my great grandpa was standing behind the car. He had such a look on his face, one I didn't understand at the time. He was sad to see us leave...but there was something else to it. Some finality that was irrevocable. He pulled out a handkerchief and patted the tears from his eyes.
I wanted to jump out of the car and give him one more hug, one more kiss, stay just another hour, another day, another week... I felt such a raging outpouring of love for the man in that one moment, a depth that surprised the confused six year old girl such as I was.
The trivialities of the moment faded away and I felt an urgency to keep my eyes trained on him as hard as I could as we pulled away, watch him for as long as I could until he vanished from view. And I never knew or understood why... Until years later.
He knew that would be the last time he would ever hold us. He died months later. The woman in me now understands but the child in me had no idea. All I knew was that something unspoken and monumental was happening in that one moment, and it was necessary to quiet myself and experience it. It was the sight of a man facing his own mortality, an old man edged away with the rigors of a full life lived, sharing a brief moment in time with a bright-eyed girl with absolutely nothing but time.
I try to live my life unsparingly in my emotions, giving of myself to those I love as freely as I possibly can, asking for nothing in return. It's the very least I can do for the man who, without knowing it, taught me of the beauty and fragility of life...
I'm about six years old. We are piling into the car after saying goodbye to my great grandparents after driving hundreds of miles for a visit. We had one of those station wagons with a "way back" seat that faced behind the car. Oh, the faces and gestures we made to innocent travelers over the years! ;)
I remember we were pulling away and my great grandpa was standing behind the car. He had such a look on his face, one I didn't understand at the time. He was sad to see us leave...but there was something else to it. Some finality that was irrevocable. He pulled out a handkerchief and patted the tears from his eyes.
I wanted to jump out of the car and give him one more hug, one more kiss, stay just another hour, another day, another week... I felt such a raging outpouring of love for the man in that one moment, a depth that surprised the confused six year old girl such as I was.
The trivialities of the moment faded away and I felt an urgency to keep my eyes trained on him as hard as I could as we pulled away, watch him for as long as I could until he vanished from view. And I never knew or understood why... Until years later.
He knew that would be the last time he would ever hold us. He died months later. The woman in me now understands but the child in me had no idea. All I knew was that something unspoken and monumental was happening in that one moment, and it was necessary to quiet myself and experience it. It was the sight of a man facing his own mortality, an old man edged away with the rigors of a full life lived, sharing a brief moment in time with a bright-eyed girl with absolutely nothing but time.
I try to live my life unsparingly in my emotions, giving of myself to those I love as freely as I possibly can, asking for nothing in return. It's the very least I can do for the man who, without knowing it, taught me of the beauty and fragility of life...
~ Angela Darling
© 2014 Angela Darling, All Rights Reserved.
Photograph: Zdzisław Beksiński
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