Small things, big things

I ran up the hill. It seemed shorter, and less steep than I had remembered. I was barely winded at the top. I looked into the front office windows as I ran by the old high school. I don’t run fast anymore, yet the image was gone in seconds. My memory had the building as vast. It was not. I had learned that both my assistant principals had died—Alzheimer’s and heart attack. Perhaps the years of inflammation exacted its toll? Where was the guidance counselor who had made it clear that medical school was a bridge too far? My math teacher, I learned, was still alive. Gosh that man helped me. (That remains large.) I ran by my childhood home on Center St. My grandparents’ home is next door, on the same lot. Thirty years had passed. The colors, the yards, the driveways, the woods in back, looked the same. I slowed to a walk. Should I knock and say hello? No. I think not. That would be a lot. Memories of mom in the kitchen. Yes, definitely, that would be too much. The thought of two unrelated families living on that one lot with two houses was strange. Do they not run from house to house? Not even on Thanksgiving or Christmas? Thirty seconds later, I ran through the park of my childhood. The swimming pool was filled with snow, the pavilion boarded up for the winter, the baseball fields still encircled with short fences. It all seemed preserved, perhaps by the canopy of oak trees. But only the oak trees seemed as big. My mind had it as a big park. It was not. Then I ran down C...
Source: Dr John M - Category: Cardiology Authors: Source Type: blogs