Do Wrong

It has been an interesting trip, back in time, recalling odds and ends of past adventures, and shedding silent tears of never forgotten pathos,

It began several years ago with the death of a beloved cousin and the introduction to his family who knew little of their beloved Dad’s childhood.

The door to yesterday reopened and to be honest, it has allowed pain to escape along with the happier remembered smiles of silliness,

We are close to sealing the door once again. I am the only one who has chosen to keep a key, and perhaps the moment has come to relinquish it finally,

The anguish of relating the truth has become almost too much to bear. It is wrapped in guilt, for refusing to shroud it with pretense,

Yet that would entail creating an unrealistic narrative. One unfair, not only to the courage of yesterday, but the hopes for tomorrow.

The lesson that is emerging is frailty, a common condition to all who enter our world. None of us are without flaws, be we noble or peasant, Yet the image we project is hidden in gloss. Timidity is wrapped in a coat of bravado; and courage is shrouded in humor.

As our family saga, (which goes back three generations,) evolves, the truth becomes apparent. One and all of our ancestors served their God well, despite emotional, financial and inexplicable roadblocks,

We were and are still family, all emerging from the neighborhood of common genes. They who traveled this earth before we arrived did so enriched with faith, sometimes calling their God by a different name, but united in belief of a divine maker.

They knew not the terrors of Covid or nuclear war, but were brought to their knees by TB, Polio, diphtheria, and loss of children in infancy. There were no birth control pills for women worn out with constant childbirth, nor unemployment benefits for husbands without education or trade. Careers were uncommon, and were replaced with addictions, not opioids, but alcohol.

Still their strength of character emerges constantly as we share the stories, the memories, the faded snapshots of yesteryear.

And as we walk back in time, another more vibrant memory emerges.

It is one of love that always survived between divided families and angry spouses. It resurrects the belief of eternity.

As I slowly retreat from the memories now left for others to read, I find comfort in the memorable words of another:

“Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.”

and I truly believe

All’s Well That Ends Well