Forgetting.

A piece of music can bring you back. From being lost. And that seems to be where I’ve been. I’ve been trying to forget. Forget the sadness that is felt deep within. And it is the holidays, that do seem to bring these feelings about. When you’ve lost a parent, and they are no longer with you, that sense of warmth, happiness, and joy, that surrounds the season, sometimes seems to get lost. Smiling children are filled with glee. The tenderness touches of those in love, purchasing their Christmas tree, and decorating with euphoria are present. And you feel that you should be present too. But you are lost. And it’s not the same. Shouldn’t I want those feelings too?

When my father passed, I stopped listening to music; it was something we enjoyed immensely together (and frankly with my entire family-music overpowers us). I also stopped going up to my parent’s property. Everything reminded me of my father, and I couldn’t face him being gone. I still can’t. And that’s why forgetting is something that cannot be present in my vocabulary. People say you must let go of your past to be present, and to focus on your future, but so much of who I am is my past. And Dad was so much of my past; I’d love to ask him right now how to fix the flood light in the front yard. I just can’t. He’s not here.

It’s been hard for me to write lately, because I have felt a bit off. Not myself. But when I listen to music, as I am doing now as I write, I feel so much emotion, and tears well in my eyes, and the writing just seems to flow. And maybe this is all I need. Not to forget. No; never. But to open myself, and let the vulnerability of the hardness of life pour itself out. In my writing. Because when I do, it allows me a sense of pride. Accomplishment. And a sense of never forgetting. For most of what I write about is, of course, where I’ve come from. My past.

-K