Missing

Back in the late 80s and early 90s there was an ice dancing team from Canada who skated for France. They were a brother and sister team known as the Dushesnays. I remember seeing them for the first time and felt a sense of magic in their skating, and when they skating their program in the 1990 world championships, I cried. It was called "Missing" and it was about oppression and crimes against humanity, at a time when human beings were going missing and never heard from again.

I pulled it up on Youtube today and watched it, evoking memories from 20 years ago, and again I cried. But this time it wasn't so much for the routine, which was still breathtakingly spectacular. I cried again for the memories I have from that time, since I taped the program at my grandparents' house (on VHS!) and watched it over and over. After watching that performance, my teenaged self chatted with my grandma, played a bit of crib with grandpa, with the world ahead of me, on the cusp of graduation and University looming in the fall.

Fast forward 20 years and it's so hard to visit the grandparents now. Grandpa just seems so tired, and the only conversation that can be had with grandma is about the weather. It's painful in a way, painful to think of the days when I could discuss the future, and how University was going, and what I was planning to do with my life. Now I've lost my friend and confidant, even though the body is still there, but the best conversations now are about the long ago past, long before I was born. It's the only time now when grandma seems like her old self - when she's talking about her childhood memories or about her two sisters, long gone from this world. What a cruel irony - that memories from 75 years ago are held intact, but memories from the last few years are gone.

It's stuff like this that makes me ponder the meaning of life and what our purpose really is. What kind of legacy are we meant to leave during this temporary moment in time? I find myself gravitating towards the senior members of our communities, trying to figure out what makes them content, and how they remain stoic and true while the world around us continues to crumble. Time marches on and the memories are sometimes all that are left, but what are we going to do with this time? I feel like I am standing on the edge of a cliff, and if I would just jump forward, there is purpose and meaning waiting for me that I could never have dreamed of. The tough part is not knowing what the future holds.

But if I could go back in time and sit beside myself in the family room, watching the Dushesnays carve out a masterpiece on ice, I would tell myself to cherish every moment in that house and with family. Another twenty years are going to pass in the blink of an eye, and I want my 57 year old self to be proud of the last 20 years, having missed nothing.