‘In the end we all become stories.’

I don’t know who said that but I keep returning to those words. At the ending, or maybe the beginning, when we’re gone, those words are all that’s left. But oh, how those remaining stories are priceless!

How many times have we said to one another, ‘remember when…’ and suddenly time rolls back?

The words of a story and we’re laughing.

The power of a story and we’re melancholy.

Or grieving.

I love the reminiscing that makes me laugh. There’s nothing better than the warm feeling that brings everything briefly to life again. Or reminds me of the magic of a place, like Auntie’s kitchen with all the wonderful scents and her telling us stories of a time long past. Or all the times she put me on her lap and let me bang away.

In the end that’s all we’re left with. Stories blown out into the wind like dandelion seeds.

Someone I care for was recently talking about giving away his possessions. He said some might look like junk and people might wonder why he kept them. I suggested he write down the story of each object. Not only where it came from, but why it was important to him.

The story would make the object priceless.

I have two very old, smoke-stained christening baby gowns. Hand-stitched and fragile. I framed them under archive glass. My husband suggested I type up their story and put it under the paper backing of the frame. That way, no matter where the dresses end up, someone will know their value.

In the end, everything becomes a story. Places that are gone. Things we cherished. Paths we walked. Old songs we used to sing.

This past weekend I saw that several plants in a flowerbed had been flattened. Immediately my hands went to my hips and I said, very irritated, ‘damn it Arwen!’. Then I realized the old dog was gone and wouldn’t nap in the plants anymore. It made me momentarily sad but then I had to laugh, remembering how much she loved snoozing in sun-warmed dirt or pillowed on a bed of rosemary. Something that used to drive me nuts is now a story I cherish.

Oh, the unbearable sweetness and sadness, the laughter and tears, of the stories we leave.