The other day I said “my words having fallen out”. Today I know my words fell out in order to let stillness have an opportunity to speak. So the words fell out and I was left with stillness, along with the fear I will be forgotten. What if I am forgotten by you, by others, or simply forgotten? That was the fear trying to fill the stillness when I finally stopped.

Instead of listening to what was filling the stillness I continued to stay “stopped” and let the stillness speak. What came next was surprising. The stillness announced “you will be forgotten”. Panic seemed to be a reasonable response to this announcement yet somehow I knew staying still while those words echoed and bounced off rock faces and canyon walls I could not see for those rock faces and canyon walls were held invisible by thick tangible dark which, when I reached out to touch that tangible dark solid masking all I could see, was invisible just like it too had been forgotten. I waited while soothing the incoming fears. I remained still out of either a lack of choice because my words had really fallen out or because I decided to finally stop and be still.

What came next was a resounding confirmation booming all around me echoing “You will be forgotten”. On the heels of those words came quieter words saying “you will be forgotten but how you made people feel will not.” I waited in the dark stillness as my fears swirled around looking for purchase. While waiting I found my fears were transformed into truths and sweet cranberries of wisdom unfolding their petals for me to see.

That was yesterday, or the day before and today used easy words to find as I said “hello” to a neighbour living with a terminal illness. This neighbour is someone I rarely remember but today I saw her outside looking at her garden, from her front steps. I asked how she was and, with a shrug of her shoulders, she mentioned something about going day by day. I shared with her a friend of mine had passed away recently. I told her that friend was young and her passing caused me to register, yet again, we truly never know when we will move on from this lifetime.

The woman responded, along with her partner who was obscured by a flower ready peony. Her partner was merely a voice for his concealment was furthered by the fact that he was kneeing as he vigorously pulled weeds. Both the woman, and her concealed weed pulling partner, both agreed we never know. Then they volunteered “that is why it is so important to treat people decently, to be nice, to be kind”. There was a grief behind those words implying more unsaid than said. The conversation ended and I remembered that garden and her flowers, being the place where she would dig up joy, plant flowers, and laugh.

As I drove away I felt spring flowers starting to brace for the heat of the summer. Once summer arrives they will be forgotten. Regardless of the heat wave wilting, those flowers will live on because of how they made us feel.

How I made you feel will be remembered.

Jt Murphy signing off for shift.

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