Maybe you have siblings, maybe you do not.  If you do, I hope you have good memories of them.  At one point in his Tintern Abbey (ii, 115-122), William Wordsworth speaks profoundly of his sister Dorothy, saying that in her voice he catches "the language of my former heart, and read my former pleasures in the shooting lights of thy wild eyes."  For him, Dorothy captures a past of joy and wonder, a time of tangled wildness and steady openness to the maw of existence.  She represents for him, "What I was once," a picture of a past now gone.
     I do not see my siblings a lot--geography prevents it--but when I do, in addition to enjoying being with each other, I always join them in revisiting our mutual memories, our shared past.  We laugh, we cry, we marvel at how life has been.  We see in each other our childhood, our parents, our aunts and uncles, our families together, the whole lilting span of our existence.  We know our lives again.
     I enjoy all my siblings, but I suppose it is with my youngest sister that I experience Wordsworth's words most poignantly, for it is in her that I most remember adventures together and how we once wandered through various unknowns, alone, wending the shoals of things unseen, and finding things that we could see, together.  She carries for me the greatest weight of "the language of my former heart."
     The past is of course now gone, but the present is ever before us, still wild, still raw, still untamed, for it is as contingent as ever, as inchoate as it has ever been.  So I think to myself about what ties it together.  Love for my little sister, of course, but a love that I frame in a greater love still, a love in which past and present and future come together, a love that transcends space and time, a love in which I hope that one day we, she and I will know everything again, forever.
     The love of God.