names of our children mentioned to us. A curtain descends. The moment has
passed. Lives slip from request recall. There are exceptions . . . For most, the
drama is over. The spotlight is off. Applause is silent. But, for us, the play
will NEVER end. The effects on us are timeless. Say THEIR NAMES to us.
actresses. Love does not die. Their names are written on our lives. The sounds
of their voices replay within our minds. You feel they are dead. We feel they
are dead and still they live. They ghostwalk our souls, beckoning in future
welcome. You say they were our children. We say they are. Say THEIR NAMES to us,
and say THEIR NAMES again.
You say not to remind us. How little you understand we cannot forget. We would not if we could. We understand you, but feel the pain in being forced to do so. We forgive you because you
cannot know. And we would forgive you anyway. We accept how you see us, but
understand you see us not at all. We strive not to judge you, but we wish that
you could understand . . .
They are real and shadow, were and are.