Who Are These People?

There is a boy, a man really, your son. You can feel his strength when you place your hand on his shoulder. You can hear his conviction and determination in his conversation as he develops his ideas in front of you. You can feel his warmth and energy in his hug and you can sense the man he will be.

There is a girl trying to be a woman and resisting. Her face so small in your hands. You stand aside with an open hand as she works hard to secure her future. You can feel her softness and vulnerability in your hug, her body relaxing into the protection of her father.

There is a dog , a black lab, a senior. She looks to you for confirmation of your partnership. She greets you with a growl and purr as she leans into your hand to have her cheeks scratched. She looks up at you with excitement and anticipation as you start your morning walk. She pauses and waits, looking at you as to say “ Are you Ok, take your time, I’ll wait”, when the pain in your body and mind has slowed you down. She waits, as a best friend would.

There is a girl, a woman now, your wife. She has been by your side for two thirds of your life now. There is a comfort in her voice and of having her next to you. Like magic, her hand on your forearm somehow calms your mind. Her skin is soft and warm under your hand. There is an intimacy of time in her hug, a life bond committed in hearts.

The memories of the little boy and the little girl and the girl that is now a woman are lost. There is a fear that the boy, now a man and the girl, trying to be woman and the girl, now a woman, will one day be washed from your memory. There is a fear that the family that stands in front you will be taken from your mind.

There is a fear of the question “Who Are These People?” .

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