This song struck me today. Watching the video (which I hadn’t seen before) brought me to tears. Listening to the words I found myself remembering little things about the houses we lived in when I was growing up–the ‘secret closet hallway’ that connected two bedrooms on Maple Street, the huge walk-in closets of the upstairs bedrooms on Marjorie Drive, the chaos of the various places we moved after mom & dad split.
My memories, I am sure, are different than those of my sisters’. Made me wonder what my kids will remember about our home when they are old enough to move out and move on. Will they remember that the outside needs a good power washing and a paint job, or will they remember that we made forts in the living room and read books by flashlights? Will they consider this a place that was stable and strong and their roots were allowed to take hold and grow, or will they remember that there was no backyard to speak of?
I had a meeting today at Adam’s school, and while I always love those because he’s such a great kid and the teachers always have wonderful things to say about him, this meeting was all about the transition he’ll make, as a gifted student, to high school next year. I’ve joked that I’m not ready for a high schooler and that’s true; but I thought that what I really wasn’t ready for is giving up that control that I feel like I have with the other two. Today I realized that’s not really true. Granted, I have more knowledge of what’s going on in their lives when they’re little, they talk a little more openly before the whole girl/boy/puberty thing hits, but I really don’t control what goes on in their little brains.
I wonder if we’ll sit around the table years from now, drinking coffee or wine, and share memories that are of the same event or occasion but are different for each of them. I hope we do. I hope we talk and laugh and still enjoy each other’s company, and I guess it doesn’t even really matter the details of what they remember as long as the overall memory is that they are loved and cherished as the precious gifts they are.