Memories of you

I don’t remember your face or your smile.  I don’t remember the warmth of your skin or the touch of your kiss. 

I don’t remember you at all. 

I've heard the stories my brothers and dad tell about you, stories about a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and a glowing smile.  Of how you were kind, gentle and loving.  Always ready with a hug or a smile and there ready to help on a project or with someone’s homework. 

These are the stories that fill my head and have infused themselves into my memories.  The only problem is they aren’t my memories.

With my eyes closed I think I can see and hear you.  When I look at a picture of you I think I remember you but I think the reality is that the stories that I've been told so many times before aren't my stories or my memories but someone else’s.

I have been told these stories so many times that I think I can tell them better than my family, our family.  I know the details, the weather, the places where they happened.  I can put my heart into them in a way that they can’t. 

I can see a vivid picture of you.  I can see how you’ve done your hair and your makeup.  I can see the dress and heels you’re wearing.  And I can smell the perfume you’ve dotted onto your neck and wrists.  I can see you float into the room like a dream.

Float into the room like a dream.

I don’t know why but I can’t attach you to anything with me.  I don't see us sitting together or holding hands.  I can't see us playing at the beach together.  I can see you at the beach with dad and my brothers but not with me.  I see all of you together but I'm never there.  It's like I'm filming a movie, I can see everything but I'm only watching.

Some nights when I go to bed I think about you.  I lie there and close my eyes. 

I pretend I’m three years old again and you're still alive.  

I've put you into my life in many different ways.  You were there to laugh about a silly painting I did that day.  You were there to brush my hair before bed and you were at school with me when we would celebrate Mother's Day so I wasn't there alone. 

You've been there for all the important moments in my life.  When I became a woman and when I had my first boyfriend.  When I went to the prom and when I graduated.  When I went away to college and when I came home.  

I have put you into my entire life.

At night when I go to bed, for a brief moment in time you are there and you're mine.  For a brief moment I can feel your lips touching me as you kiss me goodnight. 

This is the moment I cherish, the moment that I don't ever turn four and start to forget you. I know this is just me pretending but for this brief moment I have you.  

The dreams I have in this brief moment are my memories of you.  They're not real but they're mine and I can stop missing you, if only for this brief moment.

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Bare trees]

I've heard many people talk about the mother or father they remember as a little child...or, the mom or dad they barely remember at all because they died so early in their lives. I think when that happens, the mystery of who those people were becomes much greater. It's the curiousity to know what life would be like had things been different and you've displayed that through your thoughts in examples we can understand and sympathize with. A very good story.