I have knee pain. Not always in the same knee. Not all the time. But it's there, it comes and goes like the wind. Part of this may be because I carry extra weight. Also, because I insist on moving that extra weight. Or maybe I am just creaky. Maybe it's the squeaky wheel in me - the one that says, "Look! Look here! I exist! See me! Pay attention to me!" The one who will not feel shame for any of these things. Not anymore.
I will not tell you old stories. I am tired of old stories.
My daughter wants to throw out all of our Yuletide decorations. Most of them are handed down from my holiday-loving and well-decorating mother. I understand my daughter's logic. We have lived our old stories once, when they actually happened, and countless times since, when we revisited them and agonized over them and understood them and healed them.
Let's move on. Let's make new memories. Make new ornaments and decorations. New traditions. Let's be us, informed by those old stories, but no longer letting them hold the reins, no longer letting them drive our every decision, our every word. Let them be free, too. Let those old bones rest.
No comments:
Post a Comment