Ebb and Flow

Human pain does not let go of its grip at one point in time. Rather, it works its way out of our consciousness over time. There is a season of sadness. A season of anger. A season of tranquility. A season of hope.
--Robert Veninga

Living in the country there is no garbage collection service so stowing it out of reach of critters and hauling it to the dump is a ritualistic journey I make frequently. When I arrived at the dump a few days before Christmas, I noticed a large Rubbermaid container filled with photo albums. Curiosity got the better of me and I flipped open the cover of the first. The first several pages were filled with ultrasounds photos and then of a family gathering for the birth of a child. It was filled with smiles and happiness.

I stopped there because I was embarrassed to be snooping and because I realized that all the albums where baby ones. Two of them where new and empty. I pretty much figured out the story. Some tragedy had stricken this family and the memories that had celebrated a life, were now quite literally dumped perhaps in hopes of obliterating pain. I left the albums where they lay. I did not want to participate in this sorrow. Still, I have been bothered since that those memories and a history could be so easily erased in one fell swoop.

From my earliest recollection I remember my Mom telling us that we were making memories together. I suppose that is why this pile of albums struck a chord. Good or bad it is our memories in large part that shape our identity. They are our own very personal history. It is from these that we either move bravely forward or are left in stasis. I agree with Robert Veninga, human pain is neither finite nor unending. It weaves its way through our lives like the ebb and flow of tides. Some of us will sort through the sand and find the treasures in it. Others will be carried away in grief.