mapping the vault of memories

Children laugh a lot. It is a beautiful thing.

A few nights ago, I heard my son laugh from upstairs. The laughter tinkled merrily down the stairs from up high to down where I was standing in the kitchen. It was the laugh of a four year old – giddy, unrestrained, and in those chucklesome, high-pitched, and somehow fairy-like tones that only children that young can achieve.

That night I heard the free, sincere, heartfelt laughter of my son, and I had a thought, suddenly. It hit me without consideration and washed over me harshly. It did not care what I was doing when it came on, or where it would leave me after it fled into the night beyond me.

And the thought was this:

There will come a day when I will not be so privileged as to hear that sound anymore as a common occurrence in my life, my day to day What Is, my moments possible to take for granted (even though I don’t want to). There will come a time when that laugh does not even exist anymore.

There will be a day when forever more I will not be able to hear that sound. His laughter will still be accessible to me (sometimes) but it will never sound that way again. It will become lost forever in the vault, deep and wide and sometimes difficult to navigate, that contains my lifetime of memories.

And memories have this awful way of fading and being so hard to recall in a tangible way, so hard to truly feel in the same way as they were once experienced.

I stood there, at the foot of the stairs, frozen in that moment. I stood there, playing that brief sound over and over in my head, savoring it. I was all alone, and may have nearly appeared catatonic in that moment of true consideration and revelation.

Braden may never know that he’s ever done something so simple but so incredibly and effortlessly meaningful that it captivated his mother so greatly. He might not realize that she once stood quietly relishing the joyous beauty of a 3 second laugh he uttered about a little bit of something more than nothing that faded into the night without him giving it another passing thought.

When I write these moments, it is like I’m drawing a map to put up on the inside of that vault, so that when I dive into it later, so much later, maybe I can find these most important of thoughts and feelings, these memories of the most golden days, and hold them near me again for a few moments.

And I will know.

And now you do, too.

I am having a hurt.

I miss this time.

The further we go in, the more painfully aware I am of the no rewind button on my kid.

Totally still need that sticker on my forehead that says “appreciate today.”

(And pie, I really, really need chocolate pie. But that is another story entirely. I think I just cheapened this post? Fuck it. I’m sorry.)

A year.

A lot of times I walk past it on my way to do other things without even thinking.

Most days I can pass by it at least once without noticing it there.

Every day I look at it and think of how empty it is.

I’ve thought about taking it apart and putting it in the garage, where I will not see it as often, or be tempted to picture him there.

I’ve stood before it crying because it isn’t being used.

I’ve wondered why it remains in my home even though I don’t think it will ever have use here again.

I contemplate whether it is unhealthy.  I worry that it means I’m broken.

I’m not ready for it to go anywhere.  I’m not entirely sure what that means.  I know what you think it may mean.  It’s not that.  I’m just not ready.

I know that at some point I will be.  And then I will do it myself, and it will be okay.

But for now it stays.

There is a crib in my hallway.  It is wooden, and lonely, and it just waits and waits for a someday that never was.

It’s been a very long year.

A little extra help holding on.

Today’s Photohunt Theme is “Lock”

My memory is shoddy; part of the reason I take so many photographs is so I can remember.

Memories are the treasures that we keep locked deep within the storehouse of our souls, to keep our hearts warm when we are lonely.
–Becky Aligada

And so this is why I keep snapping, to retain these truths of my own experience.  To freeze in time where I’ve been and what I’ve seen.  To hold onto a little bit of… everything.  Sometimes, one needs a little help holding onto certain memories.

Others, of course, stick to us without effort.  Life is funny that way.

The things we truly love stay with us always, locked in our hearts as long as life remains.
–Josephine Baker

Did I mention that the chocolate cake was AWESOME?

It’s not hard to make the people who mean something to you feel special.

But it can be easy to forget to do it regularly.  I know that a lot of people don’t like Mother’s/Father’s Day because of the excessive commercialization.  I’m not really bothered by that aspect of it – that the days are advertised and talked about just means I’ll remember to send something to the woman who spent hours playing in the sun with me, and the man who taught me how to love a garden.

That’s quite alright with me.

Yesterday, John let me play outside without worry, as he took care of household duties.  I mowed the lawn and played with my flower beds.  I watched him and Braden play together, talking of birdies and such.  It was really lovely.  (The chocolate cake I got to cram into my facehole last night wasn’t bad either.)

I can’t say I didn’t spend considerable time off and on thinking about things related to Mother’s day that are sad and which have no emotional or logical resolution that I know of right now.  Things related to what is and what is not, what could have, would have, should have been.  For myself.  For others.

But I also spent a lot of time being aware of what I have and being grateful.

And, you know, eating that chocolate cake.  Layered with chocolate mousse.  *drool*

And while I enjoyed my day, I knew that there was a photo magnet and card from Snapfish in my mom’s hands, and the same for John’s mom.  I know that even if I’m too much of a distractible, lazy douche to let them know every day, at least right now those two moms know I appreciate them.

I have a few things stashed away for June 21 (Father’s Day), too.  Snapfish also helped with that.  And there’s a $50 giveaway over here from them you can enter to get a jump start on your gifts, too.  You can thank me later. (With Chocolate Tall Cake from Ruby Tuesdays.  Just, you know, if you were wondering.  IT’S GOOD.)

Once more, for good measure.

Long time readers will
remember the story of
our last, moldy house.

What a trial that was!
We have been in this new home
for a whole year now.

I could never say
thank you enough times to those
who helped us get out.

To all of you who
stepped in to help us move then
and are still around

I want you to know
that I think grateful thoughts of
each of you often.

And now we’ve got a
whole year of new memories
in a better home.

So much has happened
in this year that has now passed.
It’s remarkable.

March 2008………………………………………………………………………………………………………….March 2009

So, once more I say
Thank you, Thank you, Thank you all
Thanks so very much.

Space: In terms of family, it’s just a myth.

Today’s Photohunt Theme is “Space”

No matter how much space you have between you and the family members you grew up with, they can reach out and slap you as easily as if they were just whispering in your ear a moment ago.

It’s not just the fact that we are so connected nowadays, though that is what enables it.  But the slap is sharp and quick because they hold a part of you.

No matter how far away from you they are, no matter how long it has been since you have spoken or seen one another, they have the ammunition to bring you to your knees.

They know things that no one else knows.  They are always the quickest to offense and the most equipped to pull you down… and why is it that they always seem to opt to exercise that power when you’re finally lifting your head above your own sordid bullshit?

Many of us have stories that fall into this zone, this space of feeling and emotion.

Sometimes, I just want to stop hearing the ones that play over and over in my head. And I’d like to stop adding new ones to the list.

And if you could successfully edit the reel of memories that plays back inside of you from the past… would you even want to?

Can we appreciate the good times if we don’t have the bad times?

This double edged sword of emotions is piercing my heart today.

Remembering, to remain grounded.

On Wednesday (9/10) John reminded me what day was about to be upon us. I was totally taken by surprise. I have allowed myself to get so wrapped up in commitments, tasks, schedules and deadlines that I forget to notice things like that.

I forgot it was about to be 9/11.

John and I spent a little time remembering where we were, how we found out, how we felt.

We remembered who we were back then and how that moment, when we were truly faced with our vulnerability as a nation and a people, changed us in ways both large and small.

As awful as it seems, I really never want to forget the way I felt that day, and during the days that followed. I want to remember the horror and the insecurity, the sadness and disbelief.

Why? So that I can appreciate each day more fully. So that no matter how many deadlines there are, I am patently aware of the blessing that is the day behind me, the day I am in, and the day just ahead of me.

Aware enough that if I never make it to that next day, I could still be happy I experienced the now to the fullest.

Have you reflected today on how you’ve changed since 9/11? How do you feel on this anniversary? Did the event touch you only distantly, or did it smack you close to home?

Here’s hoping you find peace on this day.

photo by Jayel Aharem