"...like the burning of a library."

National Public Radio is my connection to the world outside Utah. This is important because the world inside Utah is frequently one I struggle to understand and to find commonality with on a regular basis. When I dash about on Saturdays I listen to everything from "Car Talk" to "A Prairie Home Companion". One of the programs today was about death and how we deal with grief, loss, etc. This is a particular field of interest for me as grief and loss are tightly woven and dismissed themes throughout my family's emotional history. The author speaking today said something I'd never heard before, "You know the old African saying 'The death of an old person is like the burning of a library." It certainly is - it certainly is, but I'd never thought of it in this way. Such crucial and valuable family history is forever lost with the death of grandparents and parents. Sudden deaths make it particularly hard to retrieve what we need in order to go forward because there wasn't time to ask and, truth be told, we never thought to ask when there was time. Those long silent meals over the years never prompted the questions, "What was it like growing up in that orphanage?" "How did it feel when no one came your graduation from USC?" "How have you lived without him?" Never did these questions ever pass my lips during the forty-three years I had the chance. Since the library burned almost ten years ago now these questions and so many others ring out in my mind over and over and over. Ashes and partial volumes waft and scatter through my soul memory. Which ones to let go in the wind? Which ones can be restored to their original truth? Why more questions now? Will I know when I've spent enough time amongst the ashes? Will I know the most important essays, books, and volumes to keep in my heart? Will I know when it's time to leave this library to itself and move on? I hope so.