Angie here: I've been slowly returning from a deep period of grief. I lost my dad. It's been 2 months and I still can't believe it. Most people would say, "Hey, he was 80." But he didn't look or act like he was ready to go.
So I sit here, surrounded by his stuff, wondering what to do with it all. A little morose. Maybe you've been there too, in that grief place where you aren't ready to let go. I mean, if you let it all go then what happens? Is his stuff just absorbed into the next person's life? And then what happens to their stuff-of-life?
I've always wanted to write the stories of my ancestors. To dig in and find out who they were. To share those lives through historical fiction, but with very accurate facts and details. I just never, ever thought about it for someone so close to me. They were always distant ancestors. Now I wonder how my dad will be remembered for future generations. How will I? How is anyone?
Why do we bother to paint, write, collect things? Why do we have certain tastes and interests if they're just disposable? Have you ever wondered about all that?
Is the stuff-of-life just absorbed and forgotten? Is it how we become who we are? Is there something so much bigger that the stuff-of-life here on earth is just wasted on us until we see it more clearly in Eternity?
Tell me how do you remember those who've gone before and for how many generations? Who are the people you come from? What of those people might be part of you?