Meredith and I always took the “Blue Highways”. For those of you old enough to have traveled from point A to point B before the age of GPS, you had to have a map. Dirt roads, if shone were printed in gray, local roads were printed in black lines, expressways were in double or thick red lines. That leaves the blue lines. The original path to distant destinations which indicated the best paved roads to travel. with the advancement of the Interstate Highway System, these blue roads faded away. They were no longer the quickest path between two points. They have become the forgotten byways of America. The “Path Less Traveled” so to speak. One of the first signs seen on the side of the road which would indicate your approach to town would be a cemetery. We would stop and explore the head stones. Family plots would tell some of the story of an early settler to the area. The size and engraving on the stone would be some indication as to the wealth of the family. The greater the difference between the B. and the D., the larger the stone. sometimes the stone would indicate a greater sadness such as children not growing old, or a notation of a young man whose actual burial was a distant place, like Shiloh, Gettysburg, Ardennes, Normandy, or The North Atlantic. But the story of who they were would be forever missing. A person’s legacy rarely extends past the second tier of the family tree. I bring all this up because I am having to clean out the house.
Meredith had three stages of her life before passing from my arms. From her birth to her 25th year when she first married, to her 38th year when our journey began which ended just short of the completion of her 72nd orbit around the sun. Meredith was a pack rat. I have found her elementary school report cards, Valentine cards from my husband-in-law, college art class notes, travel diary from her class trip to Europe, match books, ticket stubs for trains. All things which had fond memories for her. Her daughter was not part of those events. All of these events occurred prior to our journey beginning. She knew in her heart the story behind every scrap of picture, who was in the old picture and how the branches of the tree brought everybody together. All of the knowledge of her history died with her. I have one closet shelf filled with quilts. She knew who was the creator of everyone of them. More heritage lost.
To me, her legacy is one of love, fun, travel. All who knew her, loved her. Caring, helping and kind. Together we created memories. But sadly, tho her legacy lives in her daughter, the friends who knew her, it is rapidly disappearing.
Photographs and memories
Christmas cards you sent to me
All that I have are these to remember you
Memories that come at night
Take me to another time
Back to a happier day, when I called you mine
But we sure had a good time
When we started way back when
Morning walks and bedroom talks
Oh, how I loved you then
Summer skies and lullabies
Nights we couldn’t say goodbye
And of all of the things that we knew
Not a dream survived
Photographs and memories
All the love you gave to me
Somehow it just can’t be true
It’s all I’ve left of you
But we sure had a good time
When we started way back when
Morning walks and bedroom talks
Oh, how I loved you then