In the Heat I Sit With You and a Boy

Dear Children,

I am writing this in the past and forwarding it to an unnamed  future time so that you will have it to reference if needed.

I am sorry I no longer know your best friend's name, or recall the dress you wore to that prom.  This does make me love you any less.

I may have asked you the same question five times already, do not be annoyed, be flattered.  I truly want to know the answer.  Knowing and remembering are very different things.  Use your regular voice and answer me again.

Do not feel sorry for me because I am asking for assistance when I travel to help me in the airport.

When you were little, I assisted you.  I held your hand and your future in my own hand and guided you as you needed.  Now I am the one who needs the guidance.  It is your turn to take my hand and my future and guide me.

You may want to cry out that this is not fair.  I am the one who has always been the keeper of all your infant memories and childhood tales that made us laugh for hours and hours upon retelling. I am glad you were paying attention each time I told them to you, I was preparing you for this moment, when you would become the keeper of your own history.

You are probably feeling sad for you and as my child, I understand that.  But do not mourn me while I am still here with you.  If someday I do not recall your face, or stumble on your name, do not yell it at me.  I retain it deep inside my heart where it matters.

You are grown now, and lead your own busy life of which I am very proud.  If I do not applaud your every new business deal, or grandchild's achievments, it is not because I no longer care.  It is because I am slipping into my own past and recalling a cold winters day when I was in third grade and a boy took my hands in his own hands and warmed them with his breath.

I never told you this story because it never seemed signifigant.  When was the time to tell such a simple sweet story?  While driving you to your lessons?  While cooking dinner, preparing birthday parties, stressing over the bills. and spending each moment I could focusing on you and your future?

It is my gift that I have given you over the years.  I have told you the stories of when you were young.  I have kept them for as long as I could.  They are yours now to pass on to your own children.  You may be too busy now being the keeper of their history, but that will change.

Did you hear my voice every time I said I love you?  Did you find comfort when I hugged you with my strong powerful Mothering arms?

My arms are not as powerful and if I forget to say I love you, there is a reason I said it so many times throughout your life; so that you would remember I do, even if I do not.

Go on now children and be your own histroy makers and keepers.  I have supplied enough memories for you to retell.   I have kept some of my own secret just for this very moment.

You may think I am not trying or paying attention, but look at my face.  Can you see the far off look in my eyes and the slight smile?

No, I can not recall your last job, or what you are doing at this moment. 

I am in third grade right now. Sitting on a bench in the cold, my hands are lacking the wrinkles they have now. A boy raises them to his mouth to blow his warm breath on them so that I might feel warm.  I am there with that boy even though I am sitting before you.

Let me sit here a while in my own past recalling each detail I can.  I sat with you in your past.  Now it is my turn.

Listen when I say I love you.  It may not come in the form of words, it may be in the sincerity of me trying to recall what you just said.  It may be in the frustration I feel because I feel lost.

Take your history.  It is also part of mine.  There may be a time when I want to hear a story about you.   I have trusted you with all these stories over your lifetime.

But right now, for this moment I am going to stay here on this bench, in the cold, feeling warmer than I ever have.