Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diary we all carry about with us.
Miss Prism, The Importance Of Being Earnest
Yes, but it usually chronicles the things that have never happened and couldn’t possibly have happened.
Cecily, The Importance of Being Earnest
I don’t believe my memories are my imagination, but I do know that memories are tricky. Sometimes I forget the victories and remember the struggles. Sometimes the opposite. As I think about raising my sons, my memories tell me I could have listened more or played more or many other things more.
Rarely does one get a chance to revisit past situations. Last month—as I cared nonstop for young children for days and days—I got that chance.
Through last month’s filter of sleep deprivation, constant action, fatigue, and rarely having solitude to think, the things I left unsaid and undone while raising my sons were not unreasonable. By reliving my circumstances when my own children were young, I now understand that the things that I wish I had made happen couldn’t possibly have happened.
Perhaps I did do my best. Like you.
