I drove through my memories yesterday, drove through them in my mind and in my car. My car passed the places, the towns, the shoreline, the exits that carried me as a child with my sister and parents to much loved places and times and above all, to the people I loved. These are the roads that carried me to Aunt Muriel and Uncle Jay, to Rick, Jeff and Marcia. Carried me to Frederick Street and the Seafood Festival, carried me to hot summer days under the horse chestnut tree, sleepless nights in the tiny upstairs bedroom and meals shared together in a kitchen that always felt like it should live in a farmhouse.
I followed the roads of my childhood and let the voices of my past ride with me, let them find me and hold me in the perfection of memory, that perfection that only exists in the after, that perfection that makes the past better than it could have been. I drove the roads of my childhood and believed the perfection, believed it an preferred it to the present.
I heard my mother, my father, my aunt and uncle, heard their voices, their laughter and felt their presence, felt them with me, felt the joy they shared with each other and the comfort I felt living in the midst of it. On those roads yesterday I had them with me, my parents, my aunt and uncle and my cousin. I had them with me and then they were gone.
I drove through my memories and let them hold me, let them carry away the burdens of adulthood, the responsibilities of my grown up life. If only for a moment I let go of today, loosened my grip on the demands of my job, my family, my life. It was only for a moment, a moment in time in a place I loved, a place where I was loved.
In this moment, this moment between my past and my present, I let my memories carry me, carry me down the roads of my childhood, through the towns, along the shoreline and back to the house on Frederick Street. I listened to my family, heard them share their joy, felt their comfort and then I drove, drove through my memories and came home.