I live in other's memories

I live in others’ memories ©

By Michael Casey

We remember  things, that’s what makes us smile, the remembrance of things past. It can be a good cup of coffee, it can be the French toast we shared with our daughters this very morning,  it can be memories from a faded photo of our long dead mum. Things remind us of love, of hate and war, of death itself. As I lie dying here  I know my girls will remember me, they even tell me they’ll be red roses on my grave every month, so I can die happy, though I tell them not to shed any tears.

I live in people’s memories, Omer one of my students said he’d never forget me, never, I was touched, I told him to forget me and just remember his English. I did give him a big hug and said goodbye, I suppose it was touching. The naughty students remember you too,  when you are gone they want to know where you are now. I feel a bit like Nanny  MacPhee,  though which of us is the more attractive I’ll let you decide. I live in people’s memories so I’ll never die, my grammar school mates still remember when I stunk the bus out because of my smelly feet in the wellies back in 1972.

I live in people’s memories,  the guests at CPNEC back in 05 said I was the best thing in the hotel when they heard I was leaving, that was very touching and I DID work very very hard there. The guests for the Spring Show they were  very very nice people, one lady reminded me of Bet Lynch from Coronation St, “hello Michael, give us a kiss, show us the photos” and I’d show her the latest photos of my then small daughters. That lady really was a lady and she and  her crew really did work so hard at the show, so it was nice to look after her. Another guest would say “honey I’m home” when he got back to the hotel after 10 hours of hard work at the Spring Show, they live in my memory and I’ll be tell my girls and their girls how much fun hotel work is, and how much hard work too, because it lives in my memory.

I  live in other’s memories because I hope I care, because I really am an altruist, because it is nice to go that extra mile, to see the penny drop when you teach somebody something new. Or to see you have surprised people with your writing, “did you do that, did you write that” now that will stick in their memories. A piece of writing especially a song or a poem, now that really is something specially. I know a little old lady in USA who’ve I met via Facebook  who’s poetry lives in my memory, who’s words  make me realise, never judge a book by its cover. As she reads this I know I haven’t described her correctly, the only correct word for her is Poet, with a capital P.  Today we spoke and she said “niche”, as in we all have a “niche” and I suppose that’s how we each live in people’s memory.  Perhaps  I should be on a niche in a church with candles burning in front of me, as I get more and more sooty. A good car mechanic has his niche and that’s why we go back to him because he is so good and by word of mouth he gets good business, he lives in other’s memory.

So when I finally die, for we all do, what would I like to be remembered for? I hope my girls will say he loved us so much, he made us laugh, he wasn’t that fat, he never dyed his hair black as we nagged him to, nor trimmed his wild eyebrows either. I  hope  people have finally bought my books on Amazon Kindle, I hope we finally did get that nice big house. And as the light   from one life fades, I hope I can say “I did my best, I was almost as good as my own dad.”

mum's house where she lived till 12 with 6 other siblings and parents

Cromane Lower County Kerry Ireland