Headstall's Reflections - 76. Chapter 76 Gemstones #1 and Gemstones #2

Both of these play with the images of sand and precious stones to compare our personal treasure to the ordinary. Our most precious memories get lost in the sand of regular existence. Our happiest relationships get lost in the tumult of day to day living. These express the sadness of these notions very well. 

21 minutes ago, Parker Owens said:

Both of these play with the images of sand and precious stones to compare our personal treasure to the ordinary. Our most precious memories get lost in the sand of regular existence. Our happiest relationships get lost in the tumult of day to day living. These express the sadness of these notions very well. 

Thanks, Parker. We are all on the same playing field where mortality is concerned, but Alzheimer's changes all the rules.  

I just love your Poems Gary very nice

21 minutes ago, Albert1434 said:

I just love your Poems Gary very nice

Thank you, Albert.  

How beautiful and bittersweet, Gary.

My grandmother had Alzheimer’s and dementia, and she was basically locked inside her body by the time she passed. Your poems, though, give me hope that her gemstones, her treasured memories, were washed out to sea — not so much lost but drifting with the ebb and flow of the tide.

We stand where the beach meets the tide, ours and their lives intermingling. Even when we think they’re gone, like a grain of sand — a hidden gem — a part of them remains with us, just as our memories will live on within our loved ones.

54 minutes ago, Danners said:

How beautiful and bittersweet, Gary.

My grandmother had Alzheimer’s and dementia, and she was basically locked inside her body by the time she passed. Your poems, though, give me hope that her gemstones, her treasured memories, were washed out to sea — not so much lost but drifting with the ebb and flow of the tide.

We stand where the beach meets the tide, ours and their lives intermingling. Even when we think they’re gone, like a grain of sand — a hidden gem — a part of them remains with us, just as our memories will live on within our loved ones.

 

Thanks, Dan. The first poem is about accepting our mortality... we're often allowed to be oblivious, and we can hang onto our  hope... and that makes acceptance easier. Both poems are about our true treasure... our memories as we live our lives, as you so perfectly point out. Your thoughts are beautifully expressed and much appreciated. Death comes for us all, but I can't imagine a worse way to go than losing all the memories we hold dear. I'd like to think those gems are still in there even if we can't access them when we want. I believe it is harder for family than it is for the victim... at least I hope so.  My mom knew who I was until the final few days....   

1 hour ago, Headstall said:

Thanks, Dan. The first poem is about accepting our mortality... we're often allowed to be oblivious, and we can hang onto our  hope... and that makes acceptance easier. Both poems are about our true treasure... our memories as we live our lives, as you so perfectly point out. Your thoughts are beautifully expressed and much appreciated. Death comes for us all, but I can't imagine a worse way to go than losing all the memories we hold dear. I'd like to think those gems are still in there even if we can't access them when we want. I believe it is harder for family than it is for the victim... at least I hope so.  My mom knew who I was until the final few days....   

A small blessing, that. I’m glad you were able to comfort one another. That lifeline had to be so special, so important, for you both, even if the hope it provided was bittersweet.

The memories are still there, it’s the link to them we lose track of. The brain can often forge new and increasingly convoluted pathways, which is how certain memories remain solid, others become associated with random (and sometimes heretofore unconnected) events, and some are entirely forgotten. The comforting fact remains, however, that they’re undeniably there (scientifically speaking).

I like to think my grandma never had to consider her own mortality, only those who passed before her. A small gift I can hope her mind bestowed upon her towards the end, allowing her a certain level of innocence she wasn’t allowed in life.

24 minutes ago, Danners said:

A small blessing, that. I’m glad you were able to comfort one another. That lifeline had to be so special, so important, for you both, even if the hope it provided was bittersweet.

The memories are still there, it’s the link to them we lose track of. The brain can often forge new and increasingly convoluted pathways, which is how certain memories remain solid, others become associated with random (and sometimes heretofore unconnected) events, and some are entirely forgotten. The comforting fact remains, however, that they’re undeniably there (scientifically speaking).

I like to think my grandma never had to consider her own mortality, only those who passed before her. A small gift I can hope her mind bestowed upon her towards the end, allowing her a certain level of innocence she wasn’t allowed in life.

Again, you express your thoughts so beautifully. I have been melancholy this evening... this was a comfort, buddy. Thanks.  

9 minutes ago, Headstall said:

Again, you express your thoughts so beautifully. I have been melancholy this evening... this was a comfort, buddy. Thanks.  

Any time! 

54 minutes ago, Danners said:

Any time! 

LIked your imagery here. 🙂

1 hour ago, Valkyrie said:

I really like the imagery of finding the gemstones among the sand and coal.  They're still there, even if we have to search sometimes.  

Thanks, Val. Yes, and hopefully they always will be.  

1 hour ago, Lux Apollo said:

LIked your imagery here. 🙂

 

Thanks, Lux.  

Two beautiful pieces, Gary. I guess we all look ahead to the end of life at some point. The older we get, the more aware we become of the possibility. Or the certainty of it, even. End of life happens to us all at some point, and the fact that it's something we all share should serve to remind us that we are never alone in dealing with it. But it should remain an awareness of the future only, and not a burden. I choose to cherish what I have, while I have it, and not to worry about what comes next until I actually get there.

Yes, our lives are composed of memories, and the idea of losing them would frighten anyone. But memories have two sides, and the best ones have others in them, who will remember for us even if we someday lose the ability to connect with them ourselves. I don't think that memories are ever really lost, even with these maladies of the mind that seem to steal them away. It's more like a book that loses its index, its page markers, its sense of order. Finding things, associating them, may become difficult. But while the pathways may become dark, the journey of life itself remains. I take some comfort in feeling that, wherever we go ultimately, those memories - that life - goes with us. Nothing - and no one - is ever truly lost.

13 minutes ago, Geron Kees said:

Two beautiful pieces, Gary. I guess we all look ahead to the end of life at some point. The older we get, the more aware we become of the possibility. Or the certainty of it, even. End of life happens to us all at some point, and the fact that it's something we all share should serve to remind us that we are never alone in dealing with it. But it should remain an awareness of the future only, and not a burden. I choose to cherish what I have, while I have it, and not to worry about what comes next until I actually get there.

Yes, our lives are composed of memories, and the idea of losing them would frighten anyone. But memories have two sides, and the best ones have others in them, who will remember for us even if we someday lose the ability to connect with them ourselves. I don't think that memories are ever really lost, even with these maladies of the mind that seem to steal them away. It's more like a book that loses its index, its page markers, its sense of order. Finding things, associating them, may become difficult. But while the pathways may become dark, the journey of life itself remains. I take some comfort in feeling that, wherever we go ultimately, those memories - that life - goes with us. Nothing - and no one - is ever truly lost.

Very well said, Geron,and I think you hit on something... we do tend to think of death as only a possibility when we are younger... when we have that feeling of invincibility... and only later in life do we allow our thoughts to settle on the certainty of what's coming.   I believe that's why we are as driven and successful as we are with survival... or at least one of the reasons for it... this tendency not to concern ourselves with something we see as so far into the future. I like your positivity. 

It does change, though. I'm not afraid of dying, but not being able to access memories, or not know who my children are... that terrifies me. Again, I like your positive outlook with regard to memories, that we always have them... somewhere, and that they go with us. I do remember my mother telling her mother stories in the nursing home, and she swore she could see the occasional flicker of remembrance in a woman who, on the surface, seemed an empty shell. Cheers, my friend... Gary....   

Danners and Geron have said all that I could and in better words, and I'm glad I'm not alone in thinking our last days aren't an empty wasteland after life's battle is ended.  We may speculate but never know what's occurred, and with no outside observers, history is a blank to be filled in only by physical artifacts rather than living memories.
I want my gems to remain and sparkle and guide me, and I hope I've left some behind for others to enjoy.
My mother's mind was clear to the end before she went into a coma for her last three days, and I'm grateful for that as it gave me time to say goodbye one last time.  With the estrangement by my father, I can go only on what little I heard, and he too remained alert until his end in 2001 at age 83.  His stroke some two years before meant he couldn't live alone any more, so he went into a facility in Florida, and I'm sure that was torment for him...always active, he worked until he hit 70, then did every sport they had where he retired.  
Alas, my stepfather didn't have the same luck as his own mother, who was clear as a bell until she died in her 90s.  He began losing memories in 2003, stopped telling jokes a while later, barely talked at all, and needed help doing everything.  Once my mom was gone, his daughter put him in a facility and he spent his last ten or so years there, but the last time I saw him was at my mom's funeral when he was in a wheelchair and on oxygen.  He didn't know any of us by then, but when he looked inside the coffin he began to cry, so some things were still there even if he couldn't communicate them any more.  My consolation is that though they had failed marriages behind them, they found happiness at last in their final fifteen years.
So, beautiful images and lights for a future unknown, and I'll hope for their guidance when my time comes.

So long as we remember, our loved ones are never gone, my dear friend. 

5 hours ago, ColumbusGuy said:

Danners and Geron have said all that I could and in better words, and I'm glad I'm not alone in thinking our last days aren't an empty wasteland after life's battle is ended.  We may speculate but never know what's occurred, and with no outside observers, history is a blank to be filled in only by physical artifacts rather than living memories.
I want my gems to remain and sparkle and guide me, and I hope I've left some behind for others to enjoy.
My mother's mind was clear to the end before she went into a coma for her last three days, and I'm grateful for that as it gave me time to say goodbye one last time.  With the estrangement by my father, I can go only on what little I heard, and he too remained alert until his end in 2001 at age 83.  His stroke some two years before meant he couldn't live alone any more, so he went into a facility in Florida, and I'm sure that was torment for him...always active, he worked until he hit 70, then did every sport they had where he retired.  
Alas, my stepfather didn't have the same luck as his own mother, who was clear as a bell until she died in her 90s.  He began losing memories in 2003, stopped telling jokes a while later, barely talked at all, and needed help doing everything.  Once my mom was gone, his daughter put him in a facility and he spent his last ten or so years there, but the last time I saw him was at my mom's funeral when he was in a wheelchair and on oxygen.  He didn't know any of us by then, but when he looked inside the coffin he began to cry, so some things were still there even if he couldn't communicate them any more.  My consolation is that though they had failed marriages behind them, they found happiness at last in their final fifteen years.
So, beautiful images and lights for a future unknown, and I'll hope for their guidance when my time comes.

So long as we remember, our loved ones are never gone, my dear friend. 

We never know what our final years will bring us. I think it's okay, and maybe even necessary to voice our fears, but not to dwell on them. Our hand will be dealt by circumstance, genetics, or something else out of our control. I can only hope I will have my memories until the end, but you're right... my kids for sure will never forget me. Cheers, good friend and dear soul. G.   xoxoxo

Very real and well-written! This was a great tribute to your mom!

1 hour ago, patrick1991 said:

Very real and well-written! This was a great tribute to your mom!

Thanks, patrick!  I've missed hearing from you. Glad you liked these... sometimes my feelings need an outlet.   Cheers... Gary.... I hope you and your other half are well.