I had a conversation today in the super with a very old woman who insisted I listen. I didn't want to, but continued packing my groceries while listening. She was from an obscure country, which got my attention because I'd only met 1 other person from there my entire life. She needed an ear. She told me she lived here since the 50s, that she was captured in 1944 and held by the Americans, but her father was captured by the Nazis and executed the next week. Her and her mother eventually made it to the US, have lived sheltered lives in her church community. Ever since.
I thought she had slight dementia, but forced myself to respond with grace at touchstone points. She enjoyed the chat, she hopes I meet more people from her country, we wished each other well. She broods with her history, obviously, it is part of her. She wanted to tell another person, one more person, of her life. Maybe she understands what is happening in the world and hopes she can make a difference. I met the day. I feel good. Even in posting this, I meet the day.
So do you, Koz. Our pasts are with us. We must remember the good times, as best we can.