I don’t know what makes memories come back from the dead and back into your brain. But that’s what happened to me a few days ago. I was riding along in the pickup with my dad, windows rolled down with the wind ripping through, when we passed a white, two-story farm house. The memories came flooding back into my mind.
That house was the site of stale summer breezes, bubbly laughter, new-found friendships, and the swish of golden wheat in the wind. That’s where I really connected with another girl my age. We had never met before. But we, just two little girls with wispy blond hair, talked for hours about literally everything. It was a memory that had faded over the years, but floated up to the surface in a millisecond. For days I would try to remember details of the spot, so that maybe, just maybe my parents could remember where that place was, and who the little girl had been. Finally, after long days spent wondering, my mom remebered. That little girl was from Texas. No name, nothing, just where she came from. I doubt we would still be friends now, but it’s a nice memory.
A nice memory. Such sweet remembrance. It’s gone now, I can’t get it back. “For all sad words of tounge and pen, the saddest are these, what could’ve been.” – a very true quote by John Greenleaf Whittier. I remember one night, on Memorial day, my dad gave me his phone with a video pulled up, about memorial day, with Ronald Reagan narrating. He spoke of how we could never truly repay such men of courage. Why? Because they paid the ultimate price for our freedom and security. Now, I’d just like to remember those who served, and those who are serving right now. It means a lot to me, and many others.
When I watch the news, I hear of tragedy and sorrow, but also, just like after the Paris attack, great union. People come together, no matter what race or ethnicity, to remeber their loved ones. Through great sorrow and sacrifice, comes great union and acceptance. We can make sure that those who died, will never be “fading memories.”