Pale Light

December 5, 2008 at 1:58 pm 1 comment

I’ve been lying in bed trying to sleep.  My mind won’t settle.  Powered on nervous energy,  over consumption of sugar, and fear that ‘hibernation’ mode might cause a glitch in the system, causing me to forget something important.

Instead I lay there staring at the peaceful silhouettes of my two children.  They decided to sleep in my bed tonight.  I’m not sure if they were fulfilling their needs or sensing mine by choosing my bed.  Either way, they were sprawled across the width of my bed, my pillows and blanket entwined between them.  Heavy with deep sleep, they are both getting too big for me to move, even if I had wanted to.

So I lay there, tenderly reminiscing about their short lives.  I watched their bodies gently heave.   The hall light spilling in from under my bedroom door cast enough light for me to see their features.   The long ringlets framing Bella’s  face, free and unruly (she begs me weekly to straighten them).  The splattering of freckles across Isaac’s nose and cheeks (he asks if they will disappear when he’s older).  I couldn’t help but wonder where the time has gone…

My memories of them feel short.  I wish I had a filofax of days, snapshots of memories taken from each day of their beautiful lives.  Instead I have haphazard memories;  hundreds upon hundreds of photos,  many of which have little emotional significance or personal memory to me; and occasional recordings capturing moments out of context.

This is especially true for Isaac.  My memories of his toddler days are thin.  My memories of school days only slightly better.  I worry that I have archived memories of Isaac to make room for Bella.  In February she turns 5 and I remember so much more of her days.  I worry that I will also forget Bella’s toddler years…

In the pale light, I noticed a little chicken pox scar on Isaac’s forehead.  For whatever reason, this faded dent alleviated my fears and reminded me that I know my children.

I know the how, what, and why of their thoughts.  I can read how they feel.  I know their current favourites,  pet hates, and indifferences.  They share with me their day, their stories, their creativity, and their dreams.

Lying there, I drew comparisons between the shape of their noses, ears, and lips… and realised that I wouldn’t trade knowing them for any amount of memory.

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Entry filed under: Reflections.

Scar Tissue Honesty

1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. Adam  |  January 12, 2009 at 8:36 am

    I think it’s better to know who they are NOW than who they were THEN, don’t you? Do you mourn the loss of your own childhood memories to time’s stealthy thefts? Don’t mourn the loss of theirs. Just rejoice the now. /end Buddhism lesson/

    Reply

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