Doting on an anecdote

Familial anecdotes never stop in their surge 
Indeed it is difficult even to try and purge. 
Totally unexpected about mom or dad 
And how one day we were all very sad.
The saddest thing, as someone said
is to wonder what mom would have said.
But I tend to support another torment
of wriggling out of that seminal moment. 
The shifting of gears, change of the topic
and the silence between is all very tragic. 
You broach a movie or talk about a game 
but the human chain drags you the same. 
Hands that raised cast a long shadow
Darker it appears the farther you go. 
Childhoods spread out like craft books
Crayoned in happiness as no one looks. 
The work is all laid out for the self 
as we dust the oldest memory shelf. 
The eyes search for something to linger
because every childhood is a tear bringer. 
It is difficult to grow out of this thought 
Only this far even this poem has got.