Memories

In reality, we don't really remember days of our life. It's really just moments. My children are of the age that a few of their memories and experiences may turn into long term memories for them. I was completely aware of that during Drew's ordeal with the lure last week. I knew that I might not be central to the memory, but bits and pieces of that experience, he will never forget. I wondered to myself which moments it would be...the moment that the lure hit? Tom cutting the line? the drive to the hospital? going back to surgery? the bits of comfort I whispered in his ear? I don't know and I won't know for many years. I wonder which of those moments really stood out to him in his three year old brain, from his perspective.

But it does have me thinking. It has me thinking about the daily grind of raising children. It also has me thinking about what I remember as a child. My mom was a stay at home mom and she was there for so much of my childhood. She was there for so many of my earliest memories. The weird thing about it is that I don't actually remember her there with me. I scoured my memory while I was trying to go to sleep last night. I was trying to think of my earliest memories and who was there. I was trying to remember Mom there with me...but, strangely, she was there, but not central to the memory.

My earliest memories revolve around my eyes. I had three surgeries by the time I was six years old. I think that some of those memories melt together...how can I really know that that was the surgery from when I was four and not the one from when I was two? I can't. But, I do know that my mom was in the room for every one of my earliest memories...but I don't see her there. I remember waking from a surgery and the anesthesia had made me really sick. My mom was beside my bed, I know she was...but I can't see her!! I see the wires and the hospital bed, the machines and a nurse coming at me with a cup and straw encouraging me to drink. She was there. Why can't I see her?

As I thought about my childhood, I can remember so many flashes and moments. My dad dancing like an Egyptian in the doorway of my sister and I's bedroom as we tried to drag out our bedtime. Sitting on my great-grandma's lap under and afghan that she'd made. Crossing the street walking toward the YMCA, holding my dad's hand and carry my bubble in the other. I remember causing a ruckus in the basement of my Gram's house. And riding in the station wagon, lined up 3 in a row, passing the miles with my brother and sister on the way to our Mamaw and Papaw's house. My mom was there for most of it...why can't I see her?

What I remember about my mom is the feel of her hands when I was sick. How she rubbed my feet when I was recovering from surgery. I remember how her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches tasted. I remember listening to the click of her rings has she would soap up her hands to wash me in the bathtub. She was the constant, the security the feeling of being loved. I don't see her in all my flashes of memories because she was so present, that I don't have to remember her there. I have a strong, secure feeling that she always was.

I often am reading novels. I love the novels that tell the stories of a person's life. In every one of my novels the author always talks about the childhood of the person or the perception of their mother as a child and as a grown up. This always gets me wondering about what my children will remember of me. Will I give them enough care and comfort that I will be forgotten in their memories, too? Will the feeling of love and care carry them into a healthy adulthood? I hope so.

Drew will remember something about that day. He will probably not remember what I whispered in his ear. But, he might remember the feeling of being wrapped in my arms; or he might just remember the smell of the gas that they put him under with. Either way, I hope he remembers that I was there.