Honoring The Past

As we turned into Estes Park, I couldn't help but feel nostalgic.  The problem with ritual is that it brings the past into such clear focus.  We started making these trips four years ago-my parents, four siblings, and a gaggle of children.  And in such a short span of time, so much has changed.  My face has become thinner and more gaunt, my hair line is receding.  Next year, I will be the last of the siblings to enter our forties.  The babies have grown into school children.  Their physical needs lessen as their emotional ones become primary.

My step grandmother came on our first trip. Well into her nineties, her body occasionally faltered but her mind was crystal clear.  I remember staying behind with her one evening when the rest of the group went for a camp fire.  We sat in the living room alone in a pair of chairs that faced each other. We talked for an hour, probably the only hour I ever spent alone with her.

I asked question after question.  She told me about her childhood and how she met my step grandfather.  We talked of the greatest generation and the difference from today's adults.  It was an intimate and honest conversation.  By the time the rest of the family returned, I felt a bond that spanned generations and the decades that separated us.

We returned to Estes Park two years later, shortly after her passing, to make new memories and mourn that which could never be lived again.

Sometimes when I see the kids running and playing together, I think of my own childhood.  I imagine that instead of our offspring, it is actually me and my brothers again.  Without a care, we scamper back and forth searching for the next great conquest. 

But clearly I am no longer a child.  And on this third family reunion in Colorado, I struggle more than ever in the art of balance.

I try to mirror the wisdom of the child in rejoicing in the present,

while honoring the memory of the past.