Death, A Reminder to Live

I can't bring back the dead, but I can pass on, and celebrate, the memories of them with the living. I used to play cards with my grandparents and their family. I'm going to dig out the UNO cards, and gather my children around the table tonight to play, and talk about going to Chicago to visit my grandparents, talk about how we played cards (usually UNO, but also a card game similar to Pinochle, but called a name I don't remember), and talk about Christmas, and which traditions we hold that came from them.

My youngest children didn't ever really know those grandparents. My teenagers were just babies when we used to visit with them. Even though I may cry while I type this, while old memories and emotions surface, I can use it as an excuse to pass them on to my kids, to continue their legacy through my actions, and explain those to my kids, so our little family traditions will have a deeper meaning.

Sometimes I do things that bring up old memories of family that has passed. I smile, or cry, but keep on, and say nothing. Those memories don't need to be my secrets. My dead relatives live on in my heart and can live on in stories to my children (and grandchildren, as they get old enough to understand). Who I am has a lot to do with where I came from, what happened to me when I was young, and the influences of these special people. As my children continue to grow up, they too can experience these special people through me.