I searched for you today, but I couldn't find you. I thought I heard you whisper....it was the wind, rustling through the reeds. I thought I saw your sparkling eyes....it was the sun's rays, dancing upon the water. I thought I heard your laughter....it was the birds, singing in the trees. I thought I felt your touch.... it was the warmth of the sun against my skin. I thought I heard you weeping....it was me.
I wrote this verse over 30 years ago, the day after my dad’s funeral. Over time these words, along with the memories and feelings of that season in my life, were locked away deep in my heart, in a vault that stores the precious memories of love lost. With every loss, every broken heart, that vault is reopened. And every time it is opened, there are memories lying in wait behind the door, ready to escape.
Two weeks ago my beautiful Aunty died, and the first tiny crack appeared in the door.
Memories flooded the days that followed. Memories of funny moments, sad moments, supportive moments and everything in between. She was my second mum, the kind of person I recommend all parents encourage their children to find. Someone safe to turn to for advice, especially during difficult times when I needed guidance but didn’t want to upset my mum as she was too close to the situation.
The crack got bigger.
I longed to see her face just one more time. Not the tired, pained face of life leaving, but the beautiful face of my memories, the smiling face filled with love and life. Before long I was sitting on the lounge surrounded by 57 years of memories in pictures.
The door finally burst open, as the memories of other loves lost escaped to join with the memories of my Aunt. My initial reaction was to try and regain control over the escapees, reasoning that once they were all separated and the offenders back where they belonged, I could allow myself to face my loss.
But then I realised they were already where they belonged.
Together.
I smiled as I imagined my Aunty being reunited with those she loved. I cried as I remembered times we all had together, me and her, or both of us with the others.
And I raged at the memories that could never be.
Right now, I’m still in that rage. I’m angry. It’s not fair.
I know that it won’t always feel like this. Life insists on moving forward and taking us with it and after a while joy is found once more, and with it a reminder that there is still so much to love and so much to look forward to.
But every now and then, in honour of those we love, I think it’s OK to look back and remember the love and joy that is lost. Because what is lost is an important part of our story and it deserves to be brought out from that precious place in our hearts every once in a while.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven. Ecc 3:1
About the Author
SARINA ELDER
Sarina is a Writer with a passion for Making A Difference (MAD).
As a first generation Australian who struggled with cultural identity as a child, Sarina understands the importance of Being, Belonging, and Becoming as a fundamental need in all of us, regardless of age.
As a misunderstood Creative, who was diagnosed with ADHD in her adult years, Sarina is particularly passionate about supporting others to identify and release their Creative, or the Creative in their children, and to embrace the Neurodiversity that accompanies Creativity.
Sarina believes the best way to embrace ourselves is through laughter, and is open to sharing her own stories with the hope of encouraging others.
Thankyou Cathie
Beautiful.