A Wooden Seat

A horse-drawn hearse’s wooden seat, horse hair falling though the frame, memories flooding my mind, I stopped by the funeral home. My Father’s former horse-drawn hearse now resides there, I stood holding the remaining part as said my good-byes to it and the memories – some of the stories that defined our lives growing up. Public reactions to two young children peering out in the area where coffin’s are carried, clopping along down public streets. Hooped skirts, tall top hats and black formal suits appeared as griever and driver fall in parade route lines. Stories, memories, the very things that add meaning and define the meaning of our lives.

Standing in the waiting room, I spoke with a woman about her life and life living memories. She talked about the care packages of cookies and bread, that at age 40 she still receives from her 92 year old grandmother. The care packages that she herself now sends to a friend and her family, due to unforeseen circumstances, is stranded, with out friends or family in a country not their own. Now further carrying on the tradition of care packages, she is adding a recent high school graduate, off to collage, his first time away from home as the next recipient of memory, story laden care packages.

Until next time . . . Let a Storyographer’s Journey Begin!

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