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Vivid memories help us in sad times

Memory is a blessing.

I remember lovely scenes way back to my childhood. They play like mini-movies in my head, as needed. When I first started this column three years ago, I wrote one called something like, "Happy memories, first line of defense" (against grief). I still believe that.

I remember all the lovely family holiday dinners while growing up. In a particularly vivid one, I was sitting by my grandfather Anderson who was carving the turkey, hoping I'd get a drumstick. I was about 5 or 6. I have a photo somewhere.

Of course, I remember thousands of specific days spent with my dear Baheej, when we were young, when we got older. Many are special holidays, or snippets of great trips we took. Many are just everyday life together. Once we drove way up around the Gaspe Peninsula in Canada and back along the Saint Lawrence River. We stayed at a beautiful hotel that used to be an old private castle. I love those memories. I can reply them in my mind's eye anytime I wish.

Replaying good times with friends, that's always fun: special dinners, birthdays, celebrating, going to local festivals. These usually involve food, sometimes great food.

I remember after my beloved Baheej died, standing by the graveside - the saddest and loneliest moment in my life.

So of course, I remember hard times, as well as the good times. Everyone has them - whether health problems, challenges at work, career changes, other issues, often unexpected. But to the extent we coped, we found strength.

Many of my happy memories are about the children and grandchildren, my siblings, nieces and nephews - trips, holidays, birthdays, fishing. All of it, living life together. Those are treasures. I wrote a Haiku this morning:

The children all young

We were joyful, so happy.

I remember back

So I still think happy memories are our best defense against grief, and against this isolation with the coronavirus. And it's wonderful to have spring. Especially after that bitter cold February we had here in Sleepy Hollow.

The point is: I do not know what I'd do without all these good memories. They are at my beck and call. Happy memories sitting on the front porch with my beloved Baheej.

Last spring, summer and fall I started sitting there again, with one or two friends (in open air), sipping coffee, tea, LaCroix or a glass of wine, and having a little lunch. And soon we will be out there enjoying ourselves again.

• Susan Anderson-Khleif of Sleepy Hollow has a doctorate in family sociology from Harvard, taught at Wellesley College and is a retired Motorola executive. Contact her at sakhleif@comcast.net or see her blog longtermgrief.tumblr.com. See previous columns at www.dailyherald.com/topics/Anderson-Kleif-Susan.

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