Experts are always telling us not to live in the past.

I saw a wall decal that said there are four things you can’t recover.

The stone after it’s thrown.

The word after it’s said.

The occasion after it’s missed.

The time after it’s gone.

Once a moment is gone, it’s gone forever, we are told.

Well, not exactly. A moment will always exist in our memory if we care enough to store it there and occasionally call it up.

There’s a big difference between what they call “living in the past” and recalling special moments from the past.

Time after time we are warned against living in the past. To do so, we are told, wastes the only moment we have - the present one.

I believe for me the past is a bit like New York. It’s a great place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there.

So while I truly don’t even come close to living in the past, I do find several important benefits to revisiting the past.

Visiting the past often brings me comfort, strength and joy.

When I recall past family experiences with my mother, what comes to mind was the incredible strength she had in facing and conquering every difficulty.

Sometimes when I’m facing my own difficulties I recall mom’s inner strength and feel stronger in facing my own struggles because I have her blood coursing through my veins.

My daughters and I often remind each other that we can be strong like Nana. We couldn’t feel that comfort and strength if we didn’t remember the past.

When I lose someone I love, at first it’s difficult for me to think about my departed loved ones without feeling loss, pain and intense grief. I know it’s not safe for me to go there while I’m still struggling to heal.

It was especially hard for me after Andy died. My grief was raw for a long time and I tried not to add to it by thinking about our wonderful years together.

Sometimes despite trying not to, I would suddenly recall little things like how Andy often put presents for me on my pillow. He might have been a man of few words but his every action spoke to his devotion. It’s hard to get over losing someone like that.

If I’m being completely truthful, and that’s the only way I know how to be, I have to admit that for three years I ran from every memory of Andy. It hurt too much to remember.

When I was moved from Pennsylvania to Florida I got the fresh start I needed to heal.

Eventually, I could think of Andy and the 42 wonderful years of our marriage, finding inspiration in my memories instead of pain.

Those sweet memories make me try to live up to his goodness.

Sometimes, when I’m trying to fall asleep at night, I think about my big gregarious family, all gone now but far from forgotten.

I recall specific instances about things my four aunts did to make me feel special. They had a special knack of doing that by listening to me and encouraging me in my endeavors.

I recall how I made them laugh, first at my little kid mispronunciation of words, and later at my sense of adventure that had me doing silly things like crawling in the penny arcade window to play games before it opened.

By the time I remember some of my fond memories of my aunts, I am falling asleep with a smile on my face.

Short visits to the past are often joyful like that.

I find the biggest advantage to making short trips into the past is the gratitude it builds in my heart.

There are many wonderful people who helped to shape my life. Some came for a reason, some came for a short season. Yet even though I may never see them again, my warm memories of them will last forever.

I feel such gratitude when I think of how they blessed my life.

During this prolonged pandemic do you find yourself thinking more about past memories?

I recently found myself going far back in time, beyond the normal range of my memories as I think about my little five-year- old playmates.

As my mind travels over time I can’t help but see the hand of God in all the blessings He brought before me, starting from when I was a little kid and continuing to the present day.

Once again, gratitude washes over me along with those memories.

What surprises me is that I don’t remember the big moments as much as I recall little things like the kindness of neighbors. … The woman who cooked spaghetti for me after she heard me say how much I loved pasta … The couple who let me into their home anytime I wanted to play with their dog … The woman who started a neighborhood lending library for kids.

I find it meaningful to remember how I was graced with their generosity and love.

All events both big and small are part of the past and part of the fabric of our lives.

While none of us wants to live in the past, it’s a surprisingly good place for an occasional visit.

Contact Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.net.