So I just real a novel about a woman who is confronted with the ghost of her great aunt Sadie, in the image that she possessed when she was twenty three. The story was called 'Twenties Girl' and entailed of the protagonist, Lara, having her life crumble around her, only for it to be saved again with the help of this (mostly) benevolent spirit, who became her truest friend by the end of the story. It was basically a fairly light-hearted story, despite the ghost theme, and I had it read in a few days. But it got me thinking. Her great aunt died at the age of 105, and by the end of the novel, we learn that this was in fact not her only achievement, but actually probably the least impressive out of the great list. The final scene was of a huge memorial service being held, where hundreds of people gathered to mourn her death and celebrate her life.
A happy (I assure you! It wasn’t just the funeral to end the thing!) ending for the story. But in reality, it’d be a bitch if the celebration of a good person only happened once they’re dead and gone and buried away. Of course it’s right to celebrate one’s achievements once their life has drawn to a close, and the complete list can be formulated.
But I was struck with the realisation that everyday should probably be a bit of a celebration. Too late is exactly that – the absolute missed opportunity to explain to someone how much they are valued. How much of an impact they have had on your world. Individually, we’re no more than dots on the world and it’s histories, it’s past and future. But our own little worlds are decorated and dominated by huge structures and monuments, which make very definite impressions on the histories of ‘my life’: the people that matter. They ought to be appreciated. If you look at the
(I’ve finishes being all deep and introspective for now - it's the 'pensive' coming out. NB. DEFINITION OF PENSIVE: 'wistfully or deeply thoughtful, often with a tinge of sadness'.)
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