On the Death of the Family Historian

On the Death of the Family Historian

She was the keeper of the portal
The one who held the only key
And I believed she was immortal
Asked only what pertained to me
Relied on her for memories
And now I sit out side that door
A box of pictures from a drawer
People without names or places
No tiny scrap of family lore
They stare at me with somber faces

5 thoughts on “On the Death of the Family Historian

  1. I think we have all reached the point when we say “I wish I’d asked more questions, and I wish I’d listened better”! Family stories used to be told around evening campfires. Today we’re all far too busy watching television!

    Liked by 1 person

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