In the dimly lit windows of the passing train, I can see the faces of strangers peering out into the night. They are all heading toward different destinations, destinations not so different, really, than my own. Though they and the train are moving quickly through the night, and I stand motionless on a worn wooden platform, I realize we are all moving in the same direction and toward the same destination.
In seconds, the train has passed, and the strangers’ faces have faded into the darkness of the night. I watch them disappear into the silence as I climb down the creaking wood and metal stairway that leads from the platform to the sidewalk and the quiet street below.
It’s cold, and it starts to snow. At first, just tiny frozen misty droplets colliding with my winter jacket… tick, tick, tick. Then, almost magically, they turn into big beautiful snowflakes wafting silently through the air, dancing down quietly on this frozen winter night.
In the silence of the cold, winter air, I watch the whiteness weave a beautiful tapestry upon the ground and covers all it touches. I’m shivering, but still, I don’t hurry; I have nothing else to do. My friends have all passed away — a lifetime’s worth of friends and memories. All that I have left of them are the memories we created — not that we ever had any intention of creating them.
Now I take them with me everywhere I go.
When I think about it, I realize more and more that the memories you don’t intend to create are the best ones of all. Those simple, maybe the most important and most lasting memories are created in insignificance, like when old friends meet for breakfast or take a walk together on a worn, leaf-covered walking path that winds endlessly under towering railroad trestles and over silent silver streams on some long-lost October day.
I can’t go back. I realize I must accept that once they have gone, reliving days with my best friends can only happen with them as memories; my memories are all that keep them alive.
If not for my memories, I would be alone.
I hear another train in the distance, and in my mind, I can visualize the faces of strangers gazing out at the darkness through the dusty, dim train windows. I don’t know where the strangers are going, but I do know somehow that we all share the same destination.
The faces fade into the darkness as the train thunders away through the night. I brush the snowflakes from my jacket as I walk towards my aging, empty house and what is left of my life. As odd as it may seem, it’s been a good night.
The faces and the train have disappeared into the night, and I am alone.
Home again, I open the door and walk into the silence, and surprisingly, I am oddly stunned by the emptiness.
But as the door closes behind me, I realize that even in the lonely silence, the memories of those I loved can still brighten even the darkest and loneliest of nights.
All I need to do is remember them.
Oh My TC, this is one of your very best. I really loved it. Thank you for this!
Thanks, Loretta!
Another excellent tome from you, my friend, although I can’t help but wonder how you are really getting along in life. I know we all move in time, but life is another thing altogether. I fear your recent health scare has perhaps left you feeling human and vulnerable. Perhaps a bit depressed with the turn life has thrown at you. Please don’t let that happen to you. We all experience downturns upon reaching a certain age, and with all that time, loads on our shoulders. Please know that all the people you have helped and befriended over the years, here and in Michigan, will be more than willing to assist you in sharing the load. Chin up, pal! We still have a lot of livin’ to do!
Thanks,Terry. But like the essay says, though the figurative house is empty – it really isn’t. All is well. Sometimes I like to get pensive and consider the important things in life. Ever since I was seriously ill last summer, I’ve slowed the pace of life down, and I take more time thinking, reading and writing. So, while things are different and will never be the same, I’ve learned ot appreciate what I have and not worry about what I’ve lost. None of us can turn back the clock, but we can still ride on its hands.
Great outlook! Great guy!
Happy weekend!
Excellent, thank you. Relevant to my present, more than you can know. Thank you and all the best.
Thanks, Roz. Take care.
This was a good one. As I was reading it memories of my son kept popping up. In April it will be a year that he has been gone. I miss him more everyday. Keep up the great writing.
Thanks, Joyce. My condolences on the passing of your son. I lost a granddaughter who was not even a day old. Life can be cruel and difficult at times, but we all have to keep the faith that God will never weigh us down with more than we can carry.
Yes, this was an understanding of life itself. Iam glad you told us that you were well and adjusting to the new you. It can be difficult as it seems quite a few of us understand and I to ride the hands of time.
I was worried about ya. So today’s essay was well said. I always look forward to your essays, your insight is helpful in more ways than
you know. bless you dear friend.
There is hope and beauty all around, sometimes it’s just difficult to see.
Thanks so much, Norma.
Thank you TC
I just lost my mom of 103yrs. young. Her mind was as
sharp as ever. We lived next door to each other for 14 yrs. and then she wanted to go to the care home. She was there for one yr. before passing on. I visited her 3 – 4 times a wk. I have lots of memories to remember her and keep her close to my heart.
Thanks, Di. As long as she lives on in your memory she is alive in your life. We all are on the same train. We have to learn to make sense of the ride.
This is one of your best, TC. I have done a lot of genealogy through the years and have been blessed to find family I didn’t know I had. Some have passed and part of me mourns that I had not found them sooner. We have a saying in genealogy, they are never truly gone as long as someone remembers. Just a fleeting thought is enough to keep them with us in our hearts.
Thank you, Teddie.