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| Dante and the River Lethe, Gustov Dore |
The River Lethe, in Greek mythology, is one of five rivers in Hades. It's known for its properties of forgetfulness. It is said that drinking from the river erases all memory of one's time spent on Earth. The dead drink so they can move on. Those left behind might yearn for its gifts- a sip and all the pain and sadness that has taken root in one's soul eases. But false comfort is not what I am seeking.
I am aiming to remember.
In November, my father passed away. His death was sudden, surprising, and devastating. There was no way to prepare, not that there ever truly would be. Instead, we were left, gasping, paralyzed by a long future which contained an empty spot where he used to be.
That first day, I didn't want to have to remember.
Ghosts of memories that would fade over time is a poor consolation prize. The very idea of forgetting the sound of his voice or the feel of his hugs creates what feels like a solid, tangible knot of fear and grief in the core of me. I feel like I have so many stories, so many ways his life and existence shaped me. And even now, I am learning more about him than I ever knew. People are sharing stories I'd never heard, showing me pictures I have never seen.
I am creating this place so I have a record of my memories. So I can share a moment and not be afraid that it will be washed away by the river of time. Perhaps relating one memory will inspire another-- one murkier beneath the depths, one waiting for its time to burble to the surface after a more superficial memory is securly documented. Because as it is-- I'm so afraid of forgetting anything that I am afraid of remembering at all.
On November 15, 2014, I will make a donation in my father's name. I will donate one dollar for every memory I share, and for every memory shared by you, up to $250. Not every entry here will be fancy. Not all will have pictures, or a theme-- it may even lack cohesiveness. It doesn't matter. I believe if I plant even one memory, more will grow.
Please leave your memories in the comments, or email them to me and I will create a guest post in your name. Include any pictures you want to share. If anyone wants to contribute regularly, I'll add you and you can post at will.
We will create this space together.
I'll start.
Memory 1: When I was little, grades 1 through 3, my father would sometimes wait with me at the bus stop at the end of Parker Street in Exeter. I remember he used to call me "Peanut." These two recollections are tied in my head, and I no longer know why.
