Sometimes I sit and ponder about all the great stories that have been told in the past now lost and forgotten. Just the mere thought of it makes my stomach tighten and my heart ache, much in the same way I feel when I pass by an old, dilapidated graveyard. I know, I’m one of those strange people who do strange things, but it’s who I am.
Have you ever visited an old graveyard? I sometimes walk around and stop at a headstone I can barely make the letters and dates. I then speak the name etched into the headstone out loud, so that the person who once lived, even for just a tiny moment, their name lives once more and is released into the universe. It makes me sad because I’ll think about whose bones may lie beneath and the surface and it brings my own mortality into focus.
When I die, which is a natural certainty, how long will I be remembered? If I’m lucky, perhaps a generation; If I’m really lucky and had been well loved, then perhaps two. At the rate I’m going, I’m banking on a week, if that. But most people, their lives are but for a flash in this world, and unless they’ve made some huge impact WHEN they lived, they will soon be forgotten, in the same way those old books and manuscripts turn into dust and fade from our existence. As for infants who lived and died quickly and suddenly, their impact even less.
So, there’s a part of me that wants to leave something behind. I have five publications in print and hope, as well as others I write, will leave an impact when I’m gone …at least for a little while. Of course, that’s hoping for the best, because those works are often forgotten and I’m still very much alive.
Just thought I’d leave you something to think about.
Till next time,