How much of what we remember did really happen? How much of that is the result of our brain creating false memories? So, how do you know if the story I'm writing contains just a fact of life or is it my memory of such a fact that -over the years- has re-created from a tiny bit of information recorded on my brain a very long time ago?
The fact is that my maternal grandfather died when I was 3 years old. October 1946. I have a vivid picture on my brain. My older sister and I were standing at the side of this huge bed where a big and old man was lying. His eyes were closed, his arms were resting along side his body. I remember turning my head over my shoulder trying to find my mother. Tears were bathing her face. Everyone was crying while they were all mumbling something.
Years later, when I my mind put the whole story together and gave it a meaning, I came to understand I had seen my grandfather passing away. And I learned that dying was the saddest thing that a living person could ever experience.
It deeply hurts remembering other deaths. My children, my favorite uncle, my maternal great grandmother. Oh God! I need a smoke. Impossible. I quit a month ago. So, I need to stop this story now and go for a walk.
