Memories, Parenting

Our Children’s Memories

Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.

Dr. Seuss

My husband and I have spent a lot of time with our children. We’ve said a lot of things to them as well. Which activities and words were important? According to Dr. Seuss, the moments my children remembered.

Unfortunately, those moments are not always the ones I remember. These days, I’m surprised when my memories coincide with my sons’ memories.

“I don’t remember that” was my mother’s worse response to my vivid recollections. I vowed that I would remember what my children shared until I didn’t.

I’ve read that if you ask children from the same household to describe their childhood, you will get vastly differing accounts. My sister’s memories of our childhood compared to mine are consistent with this statement. Now I understand it wasn’t the overall experience that differed but rather our key moments.

What do I wish I had known? To slow down and think instead of rushing responses and experiences. The totality of a vacation is not as important as a remembered moment during a day.

May we all make the most of our 2025 moments.

Christmas, Memories

Returning to Former Places

At a recent banquet, one speaker urged his listeners to revisit places of former years—not literally, but rather as a mind exercise. His words immediately brought forth a memory of former years as well as a memory of a visit to that place decades later.

In the 1990s, during a rare trip to my grandparents’ home, I stood in their front yard one late night and was ambushed by the pungency of the honeysuckle growing in their far backyard. That smell immediately evoked a 1960s image of my mother, aunt, and grandparents drinking coffee and talking around a concrete table while my siblings and I chased fireflies and listened to their comforting, adult conversations.

Almost another thirty years have passed, and that memory of a memory is still with me. I’m not sure why it lingers or why it means so much—maybe even more than the original memory of evenings I loved before air-conditioning kept us indoors.

However, I’m glad for both the urging and permission to return to former places—whether literally or in my mind—especially during the holidays when I might be ambushed again.

May only good memories sneak up on you this Christmas.

Memories

I Want to Know I Can Go Back

I usually leave a place making plans to return. (Just ask my husband.) Boston, Halifax, Ipanema, New York City, Niagara Falls, the Rock of Gibraltar as well as lesser-known Chimney Rock, Black Mountain, and Bryson City—especially Bryson City.

The last three cities were not only the most realistic for another visit, but also the most obscure until Hurricane Helene’s devastation. Black Mountain made The Today Show. The Mayor of Asheville began to weep during her interview as she spoke of the damage to the town where she lived.

On Chimney Rock lookout with Lake Lure below (2014)

As I write this, Lake Lure is a field of debris.

I texted a friend “Thankfully, Bryson City only sustained significant damage from flooding.” Before Helene, I would not have considered “significant damage from flooding” good news.

I may never go back to the places I listed. I no longer carry the hope that they are waiting for me—as happy and well as I left them. Two friends emailed that they would pray for me as I grieved the loss.

Have you lost a place?

Memories, Relationships

It’s the Little Things That Matter #1

I feel like crying as I write this. Truthfully, I’m tearing up—over a photo. Or more accurately, what that photo meant to someone.

In 2019, I snapped a photo of two women standing with my son. It was both spur of the moment and posed. I printed two copies and mailed one to each woman. Last week, one of the women passed at the age of 102. That photo was found in her Bible, and her daughter said the photo was of the few things she took with her when she moved to receive fulltime care.

There was much to love about that photo. L was not only standing with her pastor, but also with the friend who drove her to church each week. Part of the church building, which she could no longer enter once she became frailer, was visible. It was also a momentous occasion. It was the day that my son, who had been on staff for almost two years, was officially installed as the church’s pastor.

I almost didn’t take the photo. I wondered if I should mail it. However, those little actions mattered more than I knew, until now.

Memories

What If I Didn’t Remember?

Contemplating the memories I don’t have—and how my life might change if they existed—was recently sparked by discovering family memorabilia. (See here.)

Contemplating the memories I do have—and how my life would change if they didn’t exist—started years ago after I read a book review.

I forgot the title and author, but I never forgot the circumstances. A man lost his memory and had to continue his life with a blank slate.

What would it be like for me to lose memories—and not just any memories—but the ones I believe hinder me? Once, it seemed like something I might want to try.

What if I didn’t remember the unkindness?

What if I didn’t remember the betrayals?

What if I didn’t remember the unmet expectations?

What if I didn’t remember the failures?

And much more.

As the years have passed, I have come to a different conclusion than I had originally. I might be more successful or braver or happier without the negative memories, but I would be less.

Less kind.

Less loyal.

Less realistic.

Less encouraging.

Less helpful.

Less me.

How have negative memories molded you?