Five Things I Keep From Three People I Knew

This is a list I thought of today. What possessions do you have that fall into this category?

• I have a red Waterford pen that I use whenever I write in my paper journal. I keep it in a safe place and never use it on the job, I would loose it if I did, and I keep it hidden from Wifey-Do. She's a pen thief. I received it at work as a gift from my former boss, the best boss I've had. My work place is something of a circus, and a few of us can be counted on to keep things running. One day before we went to brace the tent poles, my old boss gave one pen to each of us. He retired a year ago and I'm not sure what he's up to.
  
• I have some kind of Philodendron in the house. It prefers shade to sunlight and rain water to tap water. There are two rain barrels next to the house, so rain water is what it gets. I've had the plant since 1984, and it belonged to my best friend's mother who already had it for several years. She gave it to me when I moved to Portland. Her name was Virgina and friends called her Ginny and she passed away two years ago. She was essentially my second mom. Third, if you count my birth mother. I was an angry and hard headed kid, and my adoptive mother was thankful for Ginny, who was the only voice of reason I listened to.
  
• In more ways than I can recall, my friend John influenced me with his life and even with his death. His death, by suicide, taught me a lot and not all at one time. The keepsakes are few: two bowling balls, a pair of bowling shoes, and a picture. The picture is what I like best. It reminds me of a time in our younger days when were still in tech school and about to set out on our own. Our future never looked so good. We grew mustaches which we counted as signs of our maturity, and over twenty years ago I sat back with my meager growth and our brief academic success thinking, "Man, look how far we've come."

I remember those who were with me in the early years, now gone, and I feel alone and weathered. Time has passed and there are others who I've known. In some ways it's as though I'm a station out in a flat and empty plain of the Midwest and some celestial train brings people who I get to know until they catch another train and leave. I never know if I will see them again. I should keep in touch and I often don't. But the solitude is always there. My old companion and I once got along fine, but the relationship is getting stale and ominous. I hear its low whisper and remember to enjoy those who are still around.