One Italian Summer

by Rebecca Serle

I cannot yet conceive of a world without her, what that will look like, who I am in her absence.

My mother, you see, is the great love of my life. She is the great love of my life, and I have lost her.

We made promises in a world lit with light. We do not know how to keep them in the darkness.

“That the same set of circumstances, beliefs, actions that got you to a moment won’t get you to what comes next. That if you want a different outcome, you have to behave differently. That you have to keep evolving.”

There is more to life than just continuing to do what we know. What got you here won’t get you there.

“The difference between being good and bad at something is just interest,”

“It’s possible actions only have the weight we give them,” she says. “We can decide what something means.”

“History is an asset, not a detriment. It’s nice to be with someone who knows you, who knows your history. It will get even more important the longer you live. Learning how to find your way back can be harder than starting over. But, damn, if you can, it’s worth it.”

History, memory is by definition fiction. Once an event is no longer present, but remembered, it is narrative. And we can choose the narratives we tell—about our own lives, our own stories, our own relationships. We can choose the chapters we give meaning.