Posts Tagged ‘Remembering’

IMG_4899.JPGIt was an evening of quiet, with clouds that were as sun-hiding as coastal fog.

Hubby had left to take our son and his friend to camp, where they will be working all summer.

Just the evening before, my family honored my request for a photo, by changing their schedules to make it happen. That’s what  families do … give and stretch for each other, even when it doesn’t make sense.

It was the last opportunity for all five of us to be in the house, and I wanted just one specific image. I am pretty sure they thought I had lost all sense of creativity, but they did it nonetheless (and I didn’t even have to pull out the “do you realize how difficult childbirth was” stories).

So that photo was taken (at the bottom of this page), then, the next day, our son walked out of his home of fourteen of his eighteen years for the last time.

Standing at my kitchen sink (my favourite place in the house), looking out into the back yard, the memories made in this home started to flood into my mind, and a realization that the opportunity to have memories promoted by this setting is coming to an end.

So I emerged from my window perch and wandered down memory lane.

When we entered this place our youngest couldn’t reach the light switch. He had to share a room with his sister, while the roof was added to the upper deck, to make a bedroom for him. He has had three different bedrooms in this house. We would often look to the back yard and see him use the back yard as a urinal (or his sisters would have him ‘water’ spiders). He learned to swim in our pool, just one week after we moved in. His favourite room in the house is the loft, where he and friends played various video games.

Back at the beginning, our oldest was ten, a competitive swimmer and eager to throw a party. She has thrown her share of parties, and utilized our pool for summer employment for a number of years. She has lived in an upper bedroom and in the basement suite. She was the first to leave our nest a year and a half ago. Her favourite place at our home … the pool.

Our middle daughter was only seven … just a little girl finishing grade one, swimming daily for the swim club, always angling to have a friend over and toting notebooks of scribbles and sketches. She has only ever had one bedroom in this house … the largest bedroom. She has been in school ever since we moved in and has had more friends over than all the rest of us (probably combined). Her favourite place at this place is her bedroom.

Our kids have grown up here, we all grew here, and in a few days we will move on to a new time and place, where stories and growth and laughter and tears will happen.

It was good to look back, and remember what we had here together.



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Dinner out with a sweet pair was a great way to spend an evening. We shared laugh after countless laugh. We shared stories of great celebration, and great sorrow. We listened to each others hopes for the future, and even each others fears. It was delightful.

They are a pair of old friends, whose friendship goes back to years when she taught piano to his children. Now they are eighty-eight and ninety years, and they enjoy the company of each other immensely. It is good that they have a history together, because she is getting forgetful … very forgetful.

There were times in our evening when I answered the same question of this lovely lady two or three times, within only a five minute period of time. Each time I worked hard to answer it for her, as though for the first time. It broke my heart as she not only was struggling with remembering, but also was aware that she was forgetful. That awareness seemed to intensify the angst of her struggle. She was confused by her confusion.

It amazed me how sharp was her memory of the distant past. The longer back in her history that our conversation went, the more she remembered, and the greater her confidence in the details of those memories, and in herself. So, we kept much of the evening conversation to that comfortable past.

I do not understand the intricacies of memory loss. I do not understand why memory loss seems to affect more recent events than those of the distant past. All I know is that the person in that body is still, somewhere deep inside, that same person. Although they might not know where they are, or who they are with, or who they are, they are still in there.

It must hurt terribly to be a loved one of someone who does not remember you, but I do believe it is more frightening still to be that forgetting person. The look of confusion and of being mentally lost is one that rips the heart in two.

Periodically, throughout our evening of laughter, this dear lady would look at me and say “I don’t think I know you, but there is something about you that is special.” I would assure her that is was that we are kindred spirits, who both hate boring people and love to laugh. I think though it is even more than that. I think that our shared love of God has knit us together, and memories are nothing compared with dreams of what is to come, when those dreams include an eternity with the one “who began the good work within you, (and) will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.” Philippians 1:6

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