She walks every afternoon, still. For years, we saw her, as we drove home from school. She pushed a baby in a carriage, once, long ago. The seasons change, and still she walked every day. The baby is gone now, but she still pushed the carriage.
“That’s sad. Why does she still push the empty carriage?” I asked my mother once, as we drove home.
“She’s old, dear. She uses it as a walker, I’d think.”
Now, I see her again as I drive myself from school. I saw her again one day in the fall, leaning so heavily on the stroller, laboring with every step. The baby got older, and no longer needed the carriage, but she hung on to it, to the memory of her grandchild. Now she needs that remnant of her memories to continue her walks that connect her to herself, and to her past.