Jeffo often said he was the man he was because of her. I would have to say that I am the woman I am because of her. I hate to remember her at this time. I do understand that sometime in the future, memories will be drawn out, articulated, and treasured. Right now memories are like a river carrying her skin, her eyes, her smell, her laughter, and her voice, far away from me. Memories are what I am snatching at, not wanting to, like a person falling from a cliff into a vast unknown, gripping and scratching with fingertips bleeding to prevent whatever is happening from preceding any further. I have gone out to her grave and talked to her many times now as though she was still alive. I tell her she will not be forgotten and I know I will have to make sure of that. She will be forgotten if we don’t take care.

Copyright © Pam Dahl-Helm Johnston 2012. This text may be archived and redistributed both in electronic form and in hard copy, provided that the author and journal are properly cited and no fee is charged.