Memories: A Gift to Heart

Memories. As I age, they become such an important piece of my life. A scent, a photo, a turn of a phrase can take me back in unexpected ways. Perhaps a smile, even a giggle, a tear, any, or all. The other day, my wife was mumbling to herself. Immediately I am sitting in the living room in the early 90’s and my partner Skip is having a conversation with himself. I ask him if he’s talking to himself and he shoots right back saying, “Only intelligent conversation I can too often have.” We both laugh out loud.

I love the mountains, always have. When I was younger, I would travel, sometimes with my daughter, often with cousins, or sometimes alone. We would hike on mountain trails, communing with nature, and from their peaks look out on the magnificent view down below. We might travel to the Rockies, perhaps the Ozark or Ouachita Mountains, always an amazing two weeks to recharge and interact with the natural world.

The photo above was a mountain stream near Petit Jean State Park in Arkansas. My daughter put on her bathing suit and let the cold mountain water wash over her. I love her and miss her so. Like much of my family, my transness was simply too much. But I will always love her… and… I have the memories. Even as I type this, a smile, and a tear.

So here I sit, old and disabled, but always the possibility of those journeys into the past, a smile and a tear. Outside the leaves have turned yellow and a brilliant red for Autumn is upon us. With that, memories as well. They are a true gift, filling my heart with what has past, lest the void in my present take full hold. There are no more mountains, no more strolls or rigorous climbs to experience the fullness of HaShem’s creation. I do what I can do, volunteer work, my writing (memories again), occasional D’var Torah with my synagogue. Brightened along the way with another moment in time engraved firmly within this heart. I do not wish for youth, but mobility, perhaps some. But I do have love, friends, and the blessing experience formed as memory. Jessica Wicks 10-28-2022