There's a cup that sits on a shelf in my kitchen. You gave it to me for my birthday what now seems like eons ago. It reads "Sisters are forever and I'm so glad you're mine". It sits there quietly on that shelf surrounded by pictures of you and me and the Kid, and the vase which holds the flowers from your funeral.
Forever. Such an ambiguous word. So often used in conjunction with hearts and promises and Happily-Ever-Afters. But Forever has a dark side too, when the tears seem never-ending and the loneliness refuses to go away, and no matter how many new friends and loved ones you find it's never quite enough to fill up that empty spot in your heart that will be there. Forever.
Forever sometimes seems unbearable when one voice finds it impossible to sing our favorite duets and no matter how hard it tries, twelve strings on one guitar just can't sound like two guitars played in harmony.
They say the grave isn't Forever and in my heart I truly believe that, but belief alone can be difficult to hold onto when all my fingers can touch is the cold glass of a picture frame or the cold grass growing on a grave with no stone.
They say memories are Forever, but that's another fallacy. Unless you exercise them they can grow cold too, cold and foggy and distant like you're looking through a curtain at a past life. And for some reason, the memories I most want to keep, the priceless collections of days filled with music and friendship and laughter and dreams........these are the ones that grow dusty and shrouded in cobwebs, yet the darker heartcrushing images remain hauntingly crystal clear. Fond remembrances of you fanning my spark of hope into a flame, pulling me out of my depths of despair, being my courage when I had none, and pushing me into fulfilling yet another dream........these threaten to fade into obscurity, pushed into the shadows by the stark, harsher realities of nursing homes and wheelchairs and holding a hand now so frail it seems transparent and fingers that are too weak to squeeze back. So I cling to the old photographs, moments frozen in time, almost in fear that they too will grow hazy and dim until they eventually slip away into the nothingness of Forever.
And as I wander the lonely paths of retrospect, stumbling over the tears and smiles of yesterdays gone away, I rage at the injustice of incurable diseases, and the frustration and helplessness of watching an indomitable spirit slowly ebb away, and I marvel at the ironies involved. That Forever can be so horrible, that pictures of smiles and good times can bring tears to my eyes, that dust can collect on the pictures in one's mind, and the cheerfully bright colors of carnations and roses can be so utterly heartrending when draped across a casket.
Those flowers I plucked from your wreath have long since withered and been replaced by artificial look-alikes which share the corner with your pictures and collect cobwebs along with my memories. And from time to time I blow them off and wipe out the layer of dust from the cup, and shake my head as I read those words again.
Sisters aren't forever.
And I miss you. |
