I once dreamed that I was climbing what seemed to be an endless stairway to the top of the tower. I knew there were important secrets at the end. Things I needed to know, so I just kept climbing.

When I got to the very top, the stairway ended. I found myself facing a steel door with a sign on it which said “Department of Files & Records.”

The door was locked. I didn’t have a key. A wave of sadness hit me as I realized I would not find out what was in that room.


I still dream that there are secrets behind locked doors, up long stairways, at the tops of mountains, or buried deep in the memories of long-dead family members. I’m never going to get to that room to see the files and records.

Maybe none of us can go there.

Stairway: Daily Prompt

23 thoughts on “THE LONG STAIRWAY …

  1. Pingback: NaPoWriMo – Day 30 – “The Ending Changes Everything” by David Ellis | toofulltowrite (I've started so I'll finish)

  2. Pingback: NaPoWriMo – Day 30 – “The Ending Changes Everything” by David Ellis | toofulltowrite (I've started so I'll finish)

    • I think many of us have — if not dreams — than certainly feelings that there are things we wish we could know, but it’s too late. I so wish I’d thought to talk more with my older relatives while I could. By the time I was ready to ask, they were past being able to answer … and those young enough to talk had no first hand knowledge. What’s the saying? Too soon old, too late smart?

      Liked by 1 person

        • I know. I wrote one book, but I saw that on as a book from the first page. I saw where I was going and knew how I would get there. It took 9 months, but I saw a path. I’ve written a lot of books, all non-fiction except for one and that was only slightly fictional. I’m not a good fiction writer. I’m a very good NON fiction writer. I don’t create plots and story lines. I try, but they fall apart. I’m not being modest, either. It’s not lack of trying. I’m just not good at it.

          Liked by 1 person

  3. I remember when my parents were going through a difficult time. My mother said to me “you’ll never know”. She was right, I will never know because she never told me. I can only speculate.
    But your dream reminds me of the thought that we only utilize a certain part of our brain and if we could only stimulate the other part we would have great insight to the world around us. Maybe somethings we weren’t meant to know.


  4. The last person that could tell my anything is no longer able. I think I am now at a turning point in my lfe that I no longer look back, it is too painful and there is nothing left. I take it all one step at a time and my stairway is no longer as high as it was. I am at the top, descents were never my thing.


  5. yep, I hear that, lady. It fell to me to put mother in a Home when she had to go, and to sell the house. In my cleaning out I realized she had destroyed every last negative of all the family pictures, including those we didn’t have. Just the negs. she had also managed to destroy, over time, any personal letters, cards, addresses of family, business records from my Dad’s businesses. Nothing. Not a scrap of information left with his handwriting on it.

    Im the last one left in the family, of this generation, and there is no one i can call on to ask questions about anything. I was never told all that much anyway, since I was adopted–and for some reason that seemed to put me beyond knowing anything, even though it was still my family, genetically.

    I feel what you’re feeling, deeply. We just won’t ever know. And while it’s ‘sensible’ to say, let it go, let the poor dead things lie where they lay, that sense of loss whacks us across the nose now and then, doesnt it.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Judy, I’m so sorry to hear what happened. After both my parents had passed, It fell to my 2 brothers and me (to a lesser degree) to sort through the old house and possessions. It’s taken over 9 years. Dad died in ’02, Mom in ’07. My Middle Brother still lives in the family house but it is going on the market later this year. We still have some of my parents’ stuff to divvy up. Pictures, Dad’s boxing gloves, the old train set, etc.
      We found a treasure trove of love letters written by my folks to each other when they were courting. It revealed a side of them we never knew. These helped immensely because we had lingering memories of Dad in deep depression in his final year and Mom’s final years with dementia in a senior’s home.
      Now, as I finally begin “the book”, I’ll have some of these discoveries for reference. It’s going to be an emotional challenge in some cases.


    • I’m also the last, oldest person in my family — as it Garry. For me, it’s the feeling that there’s something important and I have no idea what it is. And never will know. Whatever it is, it’s gone forever. I can’t pass it to the kids and they will never know anything. For some reason or other, many of our parents and grandparents didn’t want us to connect to their past. For my family, it was that legacy of the Ghettos and persecution. They didn’t want us to speak Yiddish or connect to “the old ways” or “the old country.” They had rejected all of that and they chose to reject it for us, too.


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