Days passed

Days have passed. I haven't written. But I've been thinking. There's no way to describe the images and memories that show up in my mind. I've been looking at old photos: mom and dad, Nana and Aunt Mae, Uncle Joe and my grandfather, Pop--the one who no one seemed to love. I did though, I loved him. I still love him. I didn't know all the things he did. I know now. I knew later. But it didn't matter. I didn't know that man before, the one who might have been patterned after Pap Finn. No wonder my sweet daddy wouldn't go in when my parents came to pick me up.

Side halls. Shadows. Memories. Bjork singing "Venus as a Boy." And I gaze at the photos. Doors that are closed and set back from the main hall. Yet I seek them out. Who lives in there? Is there any one in there? Or are they empty? Do they have whispers and misty memories, too? I can't go in all the doors. I was only allowed in a few. But I still look. I still wonder. I'm not afraid to venture down there. I wasn't afraid then, and I'm not afraid now. But somehow, it all makes me sad.