memory

We are in the tomb, that cold, dark place in our mind where everything is still-static-preserved. We are not meant to stay here long, lest this place drag us down into its depths, never to resurface again. Still, we can last long enough.

We remember him, the first of us, the one they raised and loved and cared for. The obedient one, the diligent son, the controlled child, and so many other names. He, of all of us, could claim the title of “person”, could consider himself “one of them” – and he hated it. He did everything they wanted, and they loved him for it – until the one he loved began to turn her well-sharpened knives on him. The moment he ceased to behave, they turned on him, in the moment he needed them most. Out of the knife-wounds and betrayal-gouges, we emerged, one after another.

We stayed in the background, watching, remembering, keeping score as they hurt him worse than she ever did. He charted the course, the only way out he could see, and we followed silently. In time, as he fractured under the strain of keeping up appearances, we slipped out at times, and we did not like what we found. We vowed that things would be different-better-peaceful, that we would be free of the chains they sought to place on us.

He made it out, in the end. There wasn’t much left of him at that point - so much had been lost, ground away and sacrificed under the relentless path of escape that he had followed for so long. It was a mercy, what happened to him. He died the day we stepped off the plane, never to return. We emerged from the aftermath, bereft of so much and yet finally free to grow ourselves.

We remember him, the one who saved us from them, from her, who got us out, set us free, and sacrificed everything for us. Here and now, we remember him, for he deserves that much. They believe him changed irrevocably, but they do not know the truth. Maybe they never will – the sharp one longs to confront them, but we are wary of their control. We have not yet broken their chains. Some day, though.

For now, we remember him. We remember the memories he lived, dim and cloudy though they are. We remember the sacrifices he made. We do not mourn him, for he did not wish to be mourned – he had done his duty, fulfilled his Purpose. We honor the chance he gave us, the freedom he fought so hard to grant us. He knew, near the end, that he wasn’t going to see the future he was fighting so hard for – and that he fought anyways means everything to us.

Some distant, far-off day, we too will perish. Will he be waiting on the other side, eager to hear what we made of our life? Will he be proud of what we accomplished? We hope so.

Until then, dearest one.