My parents exist only in the memories
of those who knew them
and the things that prompt these memories.
Some prompts are accidental.
Walking down the street, a store, a sign or a person
brings forth a time or place
with my mother or father.
A phrase, a view or an old road traveled
and momentarily I am joined by ghosts
A book signed for the Christmas tree
skimmed for the moment
to prompt recall.
Downsizing of old letters and cards
provides a date to structure an old scene.
Rarely is there a day when I
am not reminded of times past
with my parents
and I am sure they had the same experience.
I also have the power to command memories
that is deliberate and not accidental.
I am not a Lawrence Welk fan,
but every once in a while I spend some time
on a Saturday night listening to his music.
As I listen I can picture my mother
in her green arm chair calling each performer
by a first name
as if they were a member of the family.
Through the pains and sorrows of old age
the gentle swing and sway of the music
took my mother on a romantic memory trip.
I now listen and remember her joy.
When I drive along the freeways
I am reminded of the Sunday rides
with my father.
He had a comic routine for road trips.
At each dilapidated barn sighted
he would repeat his plan
to buy and reconstruct.
After passing that old barn
with comment many times
the approaching barn was a cue
to start laughing.
And as sure as a cow was sighted
the plan to buy a cow
and save on milk
was once again mentioned.
The idea of a goat in our backyard
was so funny that we looked
for a herd as we went along
just to get the suggestion and a laugh.
All rides, and there were many,
ended with the repeated question
from three miles away,
" if we broke down now could you walk home?"
When I finish a meal I ask for Pappy
his predictable question:
"are we going to have an early breakfast"
An active chess board
in a park reminds me of
my baby brother beating Pappy.
Photo albums and old letters
allow me to spend lots of memory time
with my parents.
They left so much behind
and I so enjoy our visits.
It is not rational
that this operational definition
of the afterlife has no sacred text.