Walloping in Despair

After I wrote about childhood stories, I thought about all the other members of my family whose stories should be told. I hope I have enough time and energy to do it. And this train of thought started me thinking about all the people in my life I have known and loved, and who my children won't ever know, and a deep sadness started to come over me. And tears.

Then I remembered another story.

My son was six when I was unpacking things and putting them in one of the curved glass china closets that I inheirited (I have one from my Dad's great-grandmother and one from my Mom's great-grandmother). As I put each object in its place I thought about the person who gave it to me, or who owned it. These memories overwhelmed me, and I sat down at the table for a good cry. My son came over to me to see what was wrong. Mommies aren't supposed to cry.

I stammered out that I was sad. I had things instead of people.

He patted me on the shoulder and said, "Mom, don't wallop in despair."

Isn't that just what we do? Beat ourselves up with sadness at our loss instead of cheering ourselves up with the joy these people brought into our lives.

Out of the mouths of babes.