Sharing Memories

Dear Reader,

Decades ago, my in-laws commissioned someone to make a china cabinet. The wood was walnut. It’s now in our home. It just barely fits, because it was designed for their space and intended to hold quite a bit of china and crystal. It’s really quite lovely. But not perfect—for example, some of the drawers are hard to open.

What’s more important to me, are the memories it holds. Countless family dinners, holiday gatherings, and parties. Even before they were my in-laws, I’d be asked to open up the cabinet, gather china, crystal and silver, and set the table. For certain kinds of parties, my mother-in-law’s collection of demitasse cups would be used for coffee. Around Christmas time, my father-in-law would make glög, a Swedish spiced wine drink, and it would be served with slivered almonds and raisins, and tiny spoons to scoop out the goodies.

So, the china cabinet isn’t just a big piece of furniture. It represents a bygone time. When I took for granted that they’d be there—there to host, to support, to tell stories and laugh. To watch our kids grow—and us too.

Sharing stories about the china cabinet recently, I found myself tearing up. Grief doesn’t go away in a month or two, or even in a year or two. Many years after someone is gone, grief bubbles up.

We went to a celebration of life the other day. It was a beautiful event. Many stories, many beautiful images, lots of laughter and tears. Lots of hugs. Celebrating a full, beautiful and generous life.

The tears tend to come easily and often shortly after some losses. Gradually, we find a new normal. But, we’re never quite the same. And every now and then, nostalgia creeps in, or stories get told, and the grief rises to the surface.

And, if we’re lucky, the grief also reminds us of the richness of our lives, and the blessings of the people we know and have known.

When he knew he was dying, my father-in-law acknowledged that he’d had a good, rich life—and that it went by faster than he’d expected.

It’s springtime—almost summer—here in Texas. The multitude of green emerging is a reminder of new life. May we enjoy the sunshine, the new growth, and the old memories.

And to quote my friend, Marilyn, if there’s something you want to do, “Do it while you can.” She’s also the one who said, “Have all the fun you can!” And, my father-in-law said, “It’ll do you good and help you, too.”

Speaking of “do you good and help you, too:”

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