“it is terrible how much has been forgotten, which is why, I suppose, remembering seems a holy thing.”

April 18, 2011

it seems i may be starting to forget things. not meaningless things like where i put my keys or what page i was on when i fell asleep last night. but important things. like when we first became friends, and why. or the sound of his laugh and the shape made by the creases on his face. really important things like what their small, dusty, hands felt like in mine. i can’t quite remember what to talk about today, or what it’s like to not be sorry all the time. it’s difficult to recall what it used to feel like to huddle together under a blanket ceiling and make believe. remember when making believe was as familiar as breathing? i barely can. i am starting to forget the rhymes he repeated. i can remember every word to a mediocre mid-‘90’s rap song, but i can’t remember the way the kitchen smelled when she burned the green beans…every time. it seems i may be starting to forget things. like feeling certain about something, anything. like what it felt like to be really be seen. or what it means to look and actually see. i can’t remember a world-view not tainted with cynicism. i forget the hope i knew while surrounded by poverty. it seems i may be starting to forget things. i wish it were the meaningless things like who the bachelor chose last season or what film won best picture at the oscars. but it is the important stuff that i’m forgetting. like what it’s like to want to dance. or the freedom that came from letting go. i seem to have forgotten the conversations we had that changed me. and who, again, was i before?

because, i think, when we became friends my world brightened. i wanted to be your friend because you were beautiful. you still are, and i want so badly to remember that. and his laugh, well it is contagious and you really should hear it sometime. if i close my eyes, and try real hard i can remember their shape…like waves crashing the shore with each exhale. and i am fairly certain that no hands have ever felt as perfect in mine as theirs did. like God was saying he had made us for each other. and i faintly remember speaking a story worth hearing and not needing to be sorry – but, it also seems i may just want to remember that. i look at him now and it’s difficult to believe we ever fit under those blankets, but man our dreams filled those small tents. i’ll have to ask him, while i still can, about his rhymes. i bet he remembers, his mind far more finely tuned than mine. she burned them, i do remember, because her mother always had and she only wanted to share in the family tradition. it’s difficult to remember, so difficult. i think perhaps the last time was the day i said i was through. i think that may have been the last time i felt certain. could it have been that long ago? honestly, my memory is failing me. it is true, i can’t remember a world-view not tainted by cynicism…but i do remember that it felt exhilarating. to trust the world was redeemable, and in the hands of a lovely God. tonight, sitting here in my comfortable home i want to hope, and my inability to do so makes me sick. maybe if i heard the music, it would trigger my memory and the desire to dance would return. and maybe, just maybe, if i tried to loosen my grip. if i allowed the ball inside of me to unravel. if i just practiced a little deep breathing, i would remember what it felt like to be free. tonight, as i sleep, i pray i hear the conversations we had, the ones that changed me, because if i do, i promise i will write them down.

i want to be a person who remembers. it seems, at least to me, that the only way to move forward, is to remember the things that came before. as much as i can. because in the remembering i find us…redeemable and in the hands of a lovely God.


3 Responses to ““it is terrible how much has been forgotten, which is why, I suppose, remembering seems a holy thing.””

  1. ryan said

    your words are beautiful, lisa. thank you for sharing them.

  2. Lee said

    Thanks for helping us all remember.

  3. lacyrain said

    That was like reading a poem. It flowed and you could really feel it, deep down. Wow. Thank you.

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