Yore

 My father often talks about his life of yore as a young boy. He has told most of his stories more than once. And I can see how much he enjoys reliving his stories. There is a beautiful sparkle in his eyes when he describes those stories. He is probably reliving the experience in his mind. 

All of these stories include an uncle whom we lost years ago. He was his best bud; a partner in crime. Sometimes, I can't fathom how they survived their childhood without losing a limb or two. Once they fell into a well and there was another time when they set firecrackers to a kerosene cart. (Not limbs, I'm surprised they weren't killed). They rebelled against a fake monk and chased him away. And, he is still very proud of the day they raided a kasippu pot and destroyed everything there. (As kids I guess they believed alcohol was evil, I guess) 

All of this happened a long long time ago...

Although these stories start with excitement, the conversation always comes to one point at the end. Most of the time, it ends with how different our lives will be if this uncle was still alive. (He lived next door and had a great impact on our entire family. You could rely on him for any help.) 

With this change of topic, I can see how the sparkle in my father's eyes fades away. It breaks my heart. Him being a man, never shed a tear when we lost him; never spoke of his emotions. The only way he expresses his grief is by picturing how different life would have been if he was alive. 

I guess we can't not think about the people we lost when we look back at our lives. While the nostalgia brought by our past memories can be enjoyed; I feel that it's impossible to keep the memories of those who we lost. No matter how much we have accepted that they are no more, it hurts. It always hurts!