The Memory of Us

by Camille Di Maio

I thought of our family, sometimes, as a tapestry: a perfect blending and weaving of colored threads that produced an enviable picture on our surface, while underneath we were a tangled maze of knots and stitches, colliding and separating in our own directions, united only in the mandate to keep the outward appearances lovely.

“It can be suffocating to live on a pedestal, to live according to someone else’s expectations.”

It is no wonder that some people are afraid of the dark, fearing what might be hiding in the shadows. My own monsters were self-concocted fits of overthinking.

Did I tell you that I adore you And you’re all I think about at night? Did I tell you that I’m my best around you And how you make everything just right?

There is so much sadness in the world. But pain and sadness have a way of drawing us closer to God if we let them.”

That’s why boys go to war. We pretend it’s for the glory and the pride and the victory of it all. But it’s not. It’s for those at home. It’s for those we care about.”

Besides, once you start with perfection, you can only go downhill from there.”

You are a wealthy man, Father, but you are a poor, poor excuse for one.”

Misery loves company, they say, and if the war had brought about misery, it had also created a company of friendships that were forged through common suffering.

“I think every day that we’re alive is something to celebrate right now, don’t you think?”