Amelia Remembers

Once upon a cool November morning the rustling fall leaves woke Amelia as they did many mornings before.

Alone, Amelia climbed out of bed and shuffled toward the kitchen where she began to prepare her breakfast.  Alone, Amelia sat down at her small but sturdy dining table to eat her pancakes, and the wind blew.

And, as the wind gently carried the smell of sweet maple syrup across the stolid table to her welcoming nose, Amelia remembered.

Amelia remembered her grandfather, who to her was a gentle giant. Amelia remembered every summer of her childhood when the smell of a stack of hot buttered pancakes covered with freshly tapped Vermont maple syrup would wake her up.  Each summer morning, she jumped out of bed, rushed to the kitchen, and leapt into her grandfather’s lap where they shared a hearty breakfast and a happy conversation.

And, as the wind blew, Amelia was not quite so alone.



After breakfast Amelia wandered outside to tend to her garden.

Alone, Amelia pulled weeds and pruned her hydrangeas.  Alone, Amelia watered her sunflowers, and the wind blew.

And, as the wind briskly carried cool droplets of water across her flushed brow, Amelia remembered.

Amelia remembered her one true love-her husband of fifty years. She remembered the rain, and how, often, when it rained, Henry would take her hand in his and lead her to their front porch swing where he would sit so close to her. Henry would guide her into his strong arms and rock her back and forth until the tears disappeared. In those quiet moments, Amelia knew she was truly loved.

And, as the wind blew, Amelia was not quite so alone.



When afternoon arrived, Amelia prepared her cup of tea, as she had since she was a young woman.

Alone, Amelia relaxed as she settled into the rocking chair that her father had made for her when she was a blushing bride to be. Alone, Amelia sipped her soothing chamomile, and the wind blew.

And, as the wind whistled through Amelia’s window, Amelia remembered.

Amelia remembered her mother who piped Amazing Grace- her favorite hymn- as she walked Amelia to kindergarten each day. Amelia remembered how hard she tried to copy her mother with contorted lips and spittle sputtering out of her little mouth. She could still hear her mother’s mellifluous voice say, “Amelia, my sweet, I’ll make the music; you make the words.”

And, as the wind blew, Amelia was not quite so alone.



As that breezy autumn afternoon drifted into a cold fall night, Amelia began her bedtime preparations.

Alone, Amelia put on her nightgown and slippers.  Alone, Amelia stared out her bedroom window at the bright stars in the vast night sky, and the wind blew.

And, as the icy wind rushed across Amelia’s slender neck, Amelia remembered.

Amelia remembered her dear children and their longing calls on chilly winter nights for just one more bedtime story.  She would always give in, and after a short fable tuck them into bed right up to their chins so they wouldn’t catch cold in the night. Amelia remembered how she would sneak back into their room to watch the comforting rise and fall of their deep night breathing before she retired for bed herself.

And that cold fall night, as the wind blew,

Amelia realized that as long as she had her precious memories and the gentle wind to remind her, she was never really alone.