Memory

I contemplate the moment that I lost my temper. I replay the conversation over and over. I feel I am in the setting, and I can picture exactly where and how I was standing, and how the blow came so unexpectedly. I hear the voice that contradicted me and frustrated me, over and over. strident, impatient, heels dug in.  I feel the hurt again, muted now. As the conflict rewinds and begins again I ask myself, “When will this become a memory?”

When will the urgent hurt recede? When will the quick temper cool and allow the gentler responses to be voiced? Why did I feel so tender, and open to hurt, when I could have wished away the conflict and let it go, like on so many other occasions? What made me hold on so tightly to my position, that I could not relinquish it for the sake of peace?

I could have, I suppose, but I did not.

So it is done.

I do know it will fade, like all misunderstandings. In the scope of a lifetime, the moment was tiny and so will eventually disappear to be forgotten in favor of all the good times and love. I am eager now to have that moment recede and fade into memory, and then one day soon, I hope, it will fade away completely.

I take solace in thinking there is some beauty in conflicts that fade. The moment half remembered begin to feel like phantom growing pains that teach us about fragility and life. Faded conflict retains some of its shape, enough to recall the two connected parties that disagreed and their heated exchange, but it loses all the color and fragrance, like dried flowers or weeds that no longer ignite with the sunrise and glow at dusk. Instead, grey muted dusty memory remains until the day we can brush it lightly away, realizing it no longer contains anything of import.

I will be with you on that day.

Please come back tomorrow for a new “Weed Image of the Day” and let me know which ones you like.

We and our weeds are so much more than what we first appear to be.

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