Special work presentation today of all the movies slated to be released this year. One of the trailers we watched was for Cloud Atlas. It looks beautiful and intriguing and confusing and trippy. And, a particular scene had tears welling in my eyes.
Not because it was sad or particularly emotional...Halle Berry was reading someone else's letters, reading someone else's story - very 'killing me softly'...and as I watched, I wondered who will tell my story? Who will speak of me? Who will share my stories? Who will I share my stories with? This made me incredibly sad and pained.
I thought about Father's Day, all of us sitting at my sister's house that afternoon. My dad asked us to share our memories of him. So, we did. My sister told some of her favorite Dad stories - busting her when she was on phone restriction; the one with all the report cards under the mattress; the one where she lost me in Sears. Then, my nephew chimed in with 'Mom, tell the one about your watch!' We all laughed - my niece and nephew have heard all of these stories over and over and over again. Enough to obviously have a favorite one to hear.
Who will tell my espadrille story? Who will remember the songs from the pageants? Who will know that Grandma made lemon meringue pie without meringue for my birthday every year? Who will I tell? Who will tell for me?
Not because it was sad or particularly emotional...Halle Berry was reading someone else's letters, reading someone else's story - very 'killing me softly'...and as I watched, I wondered who will tell my story? Who will speak of me? Who will share my stories? Who will I share my stories with? This made me incredibly sad and pained.
I thought about Father's Day, all of us sitting at my sister's house that afternoon. My dad asked us to share our memories of him. So, we did. My sister told some of her favorite Dad stories - busting her when she was on phone restriction; the one with all the report cards under the mattress; the one where she lost me in Sears. Then, my nephew chimed in with 'Mom, tell the one about your watch!' We all laughed - my niece and nephew have heard all of these stories over and over and over again. Enough to obviously have a favorite one to hear.
Who will tell my espadrille story? Who will remember the songs from the pageants? Who will know that Grandma made lemon meringue pie without meringue for my birthday every year? Who will I tell? Who will tell for me?
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