Thanks for the Memories

I saw a photo recently of a holiday we had at the beach. They were on their little bellies in the sand, the water lapping at their feet. I remember how freezing the water was, even though it was summer. We built sandcastles and dug holes for the water to fill. I held my youngest child’s hand just to be sure that the waves wouldn’t sweep them in. Later we had dinner and took pictures together with the sunset behind us. It was a beautiful day. The memory is sometimes heartbreaking, a reminder of what we once had and what we have lost, but it also gives me hope because my kids have these memories too.

As much as someone can try to erase you, remove you from notifications, tell you not to attend special events, block access and make appointments without your knowledge, even encourage your children not to call you mum or dad anymore or suggest you are simply the ‘biological parent’, they can never remove the memories.

They are seared into our minds.

Your children can make lots of new memories in the time that should have been yours together, but the old memories from when we are young, are very strong.

They stay.

Those memories can be evoked by a sound, a smell, or a familiar place. Those memories capture not only the sensory details of the experience, but also the feelings.

So every time you sowed love into their lives with your words, your hugs, your shared laughter, your steady consistent presence – when they remember those memories, they will also remember your love. It doesn’t matter how thick the lies are, they can never ever cover up those memories.

I am grateful for the time I’ve had with my kids.

Of course I’d like more. But at the moment I can’t control that.

Despite what has been lost, these memories can’t be taken, they belong to us – to me and to my children. Our ability to even have children is never guaranteed and the time we have on earth is finite. I am grateful for the time we’ve had together and the many memories I now have. 

While it takes a lot of work, I want to draw a line under these memories, so they can be treasured and not tainted with the ache of expecting more, with the sense of loss and the uncertainty of the future. 

So that I can require more of the other parent without the constant battle inside my head and my heart that robs me of my peace. 

So that I can extend the invitation to my children without accidentally attaching expectations with my words, my tone or my expression. 

So that I can live my life, whatever that looks like, and to be (as much as possible) free of negativity and filled with hope.

Our memories can never be taken from us. We can celebrate them and separate them from our fraught present and uncertain future. Doing this and other things, means that we can hold onto hope, gratitude and love. We can be the parents who live calmly and gently, consistently reaching out until our children return home.

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