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 Scribbles 26 - Memories in the Shadows

When I was young my mother would sing to me. she sang sweet and tender melodies, the same that play in my head even now. And every night she would kiss my forehead, wish me all the joy in the world, and turn me over to the night.
And as I laid there restlessly, dreaming of the perfect joy, I could hear my heart beating, pulsing for her love.
Nothing in the world, could ever compare to the happiness and compassion my mother showed towards me.
From a very young age I had no father, just a mother and a little sister. Their love was all I needed to get me through.
Each day I would go to school, and each day I would return. And even though the days got worse and worse,
I knew that somewhere was my mother and her love waiting for me back home.

There was a small wooden path behind our yard, and every day I would take a walk through the woods to find a quiet place to rest and think. I came upon this wide river one day, beautiful, bright green grass shadowed by brilliant enormous trees. (I realize today that the trees weren't so big, but back then they appeared monstrous compared to my small, young body)
There was a long path of rocks creating a bridge across this small river, leading off to a place I have never seen before. It seems as if this bridge was made by man, yet so beautiful and elegant it almost seemed impossible that such a chaotic creature could create such splendor and beauty in nature's depths.

The water ran through the river like my thoughts through my head, always pushing forward, engulfing and over running the many rocks and hollow walls that bar the path ahead. I sit near the rocks, dipping my feet carefully in the cold, clear, water. I sit and dream, thinking of all the world I have ahead of me… all the fun times, the bad times, the lovers, the friends… all the things life brings you, from the beginning to the end.
I wonder if I'll ever have, a lover like my mother, and I wonder even more curiously, how could my father ever leave her behind?
She is so warm and caring, so beautiful and elegant, she never caused a fuss, and never ever yelled or cussed.
And as I sit here now, thinking about my life back then- all the opportunities, that had come and gone all the dreams I had but lost… all the world was my oyster, and the pearl was taken from me.

For as I sat upon those rocks, dipping my feet in the cool spring waters, I heard a rustling of the leaves behind me. it was my little sister, carrying a small white letter and a frown upon her face. As she moved closer, I could see a small tear in her eyes… "I don’t know why I'm sad" she said, handing me the letter- "I cannot read as of yet, but something is the matter"
And as I read it swiftly, my head clear of all those dreams… I saw the pale black letters, spelling out the words: " I regret to inform you, my good friend Denim, but it appears the tests came back positive, glaucoma at its worst, and I also regret to inform you Sir, that you will be completely blind within the year. My sincerest apologies, Dr. Bill Terezakis "

------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------

Its been five years since that day, and I sit alone now, my mother gone. My sister met a man, and has moved to another state. She calls once in a while, to see how things have been. But there's not much that I remember, as my memory grows weary.
The only memory I will never forget, the only thing I can see as clear as that clear blue day, is that river, the rocky bridge, and the brilliant green flora that surrounded it… the cool feel of my feet against the water, and the warm soft breeze against my face.
Once in awhile, an old friend of mine leads me down to the river, where we just sit and talk; our feet dangling in the water. That is the only time, where I can feel at peace, since losing my sight, everything has been taken from me, all the beauty in the world is hidden in the shadows, but, once I step foot in that river, the world comes flowing back to me, all the vibrant colors and the perfectly laid rock bridge, it all comes back to me, and for a brief few hours, I can almost see again.
    Posted by RomeosMadWorld on 2009-04-28 08:58:30 | Rating: | Views: 121
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That was beautiful. Memories in the shadows....:) beautiful.
Blindness can never take away the colours of memories. That's what made this so special. :)
Posted by  EasyBev  on 2009-04-28 09:15:12 
  
That was so beautifully poignant and well written - I feel quite sad now. A wonderful description of a boy's love for his mother.
Posted by  overthehillandfar...  on 2009-04-28 09:19:49 
  
You can never loose sight of a mother's love...

Absolutely beautiful story my friend...

E
Posted by  Evetspordlaw  on 2009-04-28 16:31:13 
  
Your words touched my soul, and the same words that O. used, beautifully poignant and so well written. Your sadness drips through your words, dear one.
Posted by  greunie  on 2009-04-28 16:43:35 
  
As I remember my mother's manipulative, oh blahblahblahblah....
I remember my mother's love for me...yes, she was cold and unbearing... but I know she loved me...and my sister...you remind me of her adoration of me and my sister.
All I can say is thank you for that....
:)
Posted by  smilinirisheyes  on 2009-04-28 20:28:10 
  
Thank you for sharing such a touching post.
Posted by  angelwings  on 2009-04-29 03:40:52 
  
Stirling effort! A truly melancholy tale.
Posted by  MonoExplosion  on 2009-04-29 20:34:32 
  
reading your words,i could even picture the boy and his mother in my mind,and i wish i could give both of them a hug, to warm the mother for she must has been through so much pain in life, to lighten up the life of the son for he still hold the coloerful memory...that's such a beautiful story...i could not stop reading it again. thank you
Posted by  nina880224  on 2009-05-03 20:10:36 
  
This was a beautiful write :)
Posted by  Kaybee  on 2009-05-25 23:46:00 
  
well my friend I can some where understand you about you and your mother,
I was just somehow like you I was brought up by my mother as my father die when I was 3 yr. old and when some one write about their past there is alwayws some one who can relate to the writing.

Memories are what we must never let slip away no matter how theycame to us in the first place good or bad.

This way we can learn from them.

God loves you

Raymond
Posted by  raymondchristianp...  on 2009-05-26 00:05:44 
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RomeosMadWorld
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