I watched a show last night on the History Channel. It was about people in the Dark Ages who died of the plague. They said hundreds of thousands of people died across the continent at that time and had to be buried in mass graves. That disturbed me. Yes, I was disturbed because they died , but also because no one knows or remembers who they were.
My sister-in-law and brother-in-law, and uncle died over the past five years. I thought about them and wondered after this generation passes, will they be remembered. Now we talk about them and it always comes down to a sigh. We acknowldege they passed and then we go on with life. I guess I mostly wonder who will remember them when we're gone. They kept no journals, never served in public office, there is not monument to them ever being here. Just like the people who died in the plague, generations from now, I wonder if people will remember them.
I guess that's another reason I like writing so much. I'm sure my immediate family won't appreciate all my journal writing and my published books, but some day, generations from now, I hope one of my great grandchildren pulls out my journals and read what I've written. I hope someone going through an old museum pulls out one of my books and is mesmorized. I want to be remembered. Perhaps writing will allow that.
Til Tomorrow~