Penny Sue Denim, the moment Cefalù returns to you by name is deeply moving because it shows how memory can stay hidden until another story gives it a door. You braid Tembi Locke’s grief, Sicily, Robben, the old Garmin, Google Maps, and your daughter’s Lego fox into one living scene where past and present keep touching each other. The line about never again sitting at a café terrace with Robben is devastating, especially because it arrives beside your daughter’s voice calling you back into the room. Grateful for the beauty and honesty in this reflection on love, memory, and the places grief helps us find again.
As I read, I found myself thinking about the memorial stones Israel gathered from the Jordan. Not because they were trying to live in the past, but because they understood how easily we forget. They gathered stones from the riverbed and stacked them together as a witness. A reminder. A way of saying, "This happened. We were here. God was here."
Your essay felt like that to me.
The soundtrack.
The café.
The GPS.
The virtual maps.
The Sicilian roads.
The rediscovery of Cefalù.
Each one felt like another stone gathered from the riverbed of memory.
I have lost many people over the years, and one of the things grief has taught me is that remembering is an act of love. Not clinging. Not refusing to move forward. Remembering.
What moved me most was your determination to keep gathering the pieces. To follow the thread of a memory simply because it mattered. Because he mattered.
The line that echoed in my mind while reading was not, "Things Lost Along the Way," but rather, "Things Found Along the Way."
A forgotten road trip.
A shared moment.
A piece of yourself.
A piece of Robben.
A reminder that love leaves traces.
Thank you for sharing this so vulnerably. It reminded me that some of the most sacred work we do after loss is simply refusing to let love disappear beneath the weight of time.
Sometimes all we can do is gather another stone and add it to the memorial.
Love this!
Beautiful comment, beautiful prose!
Penny Sue Denim, the moment Cefalù returns to you by name is deeply moving because it shows how memory can stay hidden until another story gives it a door. You braid Tembi Locke’s grief, Sicily, Robben, the old Garmin, Google Maps, and your daughter’s Lego fox into one living scene where past and present keep touching each other. The line about never again sitting at a café terrace with Robben is devastating, especially because it arrives beside your daughter’s voice calling you back into the room. Grateful for the beauty and honesty in this reflection on love, memory, and the places grief helps us find again.
Peggy,
This piece resonated with me deeply.
As I read, I found myself thinking about the memorial stones Israel gathered from the Jordan. Not because they were trying to live in the past, but because they understood how easily we forget. They gathered stones from the riverbed and stacked them together as a witness. A reminder. A way of saying, "This happened. We were here. God was here."
Your essay felt like that to me.
The soundtrack.
The café.
The GPS.
The virtual maps.
The Sicilian roads.
The rediscovery of Cefalù.
Each one felt like another stone gathered from the riverbed of memory.
I have lost many people over the years, and one of the things grief has taught me is that remembering is an act of love. Not clinging. Not refusing to move forward. Remembering.
What moved me most was your determination to keep gathering the pieces. To follow the thread of a memory simply because it mattered. Because he mattered.
The line that echoed in my mind while reading was not, "Things Lost Along the Way," but rather, "Things Found Along the Way."
A forgotten road trip.
A shared moment.
A piece of yourself.
A piece of Robben.
A reminder that love leaves traces.
Thank you for sharing this so vulnerably. It reminded me that some of the most sacred work we do after loss is simply refusing to let love disappear beneath the weight of time.
Sometimes all we can do is gather another stone and add it to the memorial.
And sometimes that is enough.
Thank you for resharing this post! ✨ I am incredibly moved, grateful one journey can inspire another. My heart is full
Beautiful narrative on love and loss. Thanks for sharing this!