Tag Archive: memories

I shut my eyes against the warm orange glow of the candle I just light.  I remember eating cinnamon and sugar apple slices, playing games of pool, and gardening.  His kind eyes and easy smile.  How big he seemed to me then.  My tears sizzle in the wick’s flame and I inhale a shaky breath.  I need to remember the memories I tell myself… as I prepare to say goodbye.


Just last week I lost my adopted Grandpa, Lloyd.  I loved that my neighbors treated me like their very own grandchild, and I loved them. Losing him is like losing a part of my childhood.  I will always remember you Grandpa Lloyd and what you meant to me!

Okay now on to something less weepy.  Like this prompt!  This is a fabulous prompt from Julia over at 100 word challenge for grown ups, here is the link.
Be sure to head over there to read the rest of the flash fictions using this prompt.


The words swirled in the ether untangable things just out of reach as he sat there.  He blinked took a drink of water and tried again.  Silently he read the lines penned with such a familiar slant begging his thoughts to coalesce.

“Do you remember these dad?”

The hopeful question intrudes upon his contemplation.  Its his script and the words read I’ll love you forever, but the name Jean just doesn’t ring any bells.

“They say my name,” he beams at his son, who tries his best to smile back.


My grandpa suffers from Alzheimer’s disease and though he still remembers all his kids I am but a smiling young face to him.  This Christmas he was gifted with a book of all his old poems and writings that had been found while cleaning.  When he read them he struggled with some words, but the worst part was he seemed surprised to see his name on the author line. 

Perhaps his memories are now more akin to half remembered dreams, not concrete enough to be believed as fact, though I hope they bring him comfort.

Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas Grandpa
                              From your granddaughter who promises never to forget what you cannot remember

“Don’t forget,” she told her reflection as one final tear fell from her bright blue eyes. “To remember to be happy,” she whispered, defeated yet resolute, as the first cords of Pachelbel’s Cannon in D filled the air.


Let Him Go

The rose coloring was coming off her memories, flaking away bit by bit, as the words truly sunk in.  He was getting married.  Married in the house that had been their home, married to one of the many he had cheated with, married to really wash the stink of his first failed family from his life.  The hard part was knowing that he would never understand, could never understand, why this hurt so much.  Jack was a disappointment, the kind of let down that can tare you up and leave you broken because of how fiercely you needed to believe in him and wanted him to love you.  It was time for Maggie to let him go.  He had taken everything, with meticulous detail, leaving only the tear stained memories for her to hold him in, and now he had tainted even those.

Unforeseen Consequences

                                   Time runs in rivulets,
       winding its never ending way through all things.
constantly, persistently, etching that which is memory
                                        upon the sands.

                          In torrents it washes all away,
                       in trickles it scares to the bedrock,
               eroding some pieces while forming others.

                          Moving in predictable patterns
                           to unforeseen consequences.

Dinner Memories

Marjorie sat looking at her plate smiling slightly and laughed her small laugh, a little bit of everything she thought to herself.  It was her way of saving room for dessert, no filling up on rolls for her.  The whole house smelled of the holidays an equal mixture of butter, sugar, roast meat, and warmth.  Her family supplied the warmth and the holiday soundtrack she loved so well and missed so much come January.  The boys gathered around the football playing TV shouting the calls, the scrape of utensils against china, and children’s footsteps rushing for the door or food.  Family had always been the secret ingredient to every successful holiday get-together it made the weather nicer, the food taste better, and time run slower.  Marjorie lifted her forkful of turkey and fixings and said a quick prayer, let my family be ever safe and always together, and then took her first bite of Thanksgiving.

As she chewed the color drained from her mind’s picture, deafening silence rose up to meet her ears, and the cold seeped into her bones.

“I’ll see you on Christmas Ms. Marjorie,” the meals-on-wheels lady said with a sad small smile of her own, “you take care now.”

Marjorie turned away from her ‘home-made’ dinner; first she turned on TV football, then she started some store bought cookie dough in the oven, she even added some light music from her radio before sitting back down.  “I’m thankful for good memories,” she said aloud as she closed her eyes preferring the company of those not there, leaving the food untouched before her.

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