When I started this website, I wanted to use it as a place where I could share with the world the joys of parenthood. I wanted to write down for all times my impression of the ever-changing people who inhabit my home.
We often hear, they are only little for such a short time. But what does that really mean. Every once in a while, an event will trigger a memory of my firstborn in his very early years. I have forgotten so much of what he was then. He has changed in so many ways; his appearance, his voice, his size and his attitudes. He has learned to deal with so many things in life that he found so difficult when he was 2 and 3. Well of course. We expect that. His life would be so much harder if he still acted like a 3 year old (all the time instead of the passing bouts of 3 year old that we get now).
When I get these momentary pictures of his life back then, I hope that I can remember them forever. They are so precious. But they leave in a matter of days and his current being overwhelms all of what I thought so briefly.
With Lastborn, I have more connection to his past. His smile is so radiant it takes over the whole room. So, when I look at pictures of him from 2 or 3 years ago, the moment comes back to me like crystal; sharp and smooth and without fault.
It helps that I have had the time to savor Lastborn. I was not away at work for 8 hours of his waking days like I was for Firstborns first 3.5 years. It also helps that his personality is so huge and interactive, screaming for recognition. Firstborn dealt with life internally, in his mind and heart with little interaction with us or anyone else for that matter. It was his way and it worked for him.
I'm not up to the task of describing them to someone else though. I think I can write stories for myself, but I don't know if I am up to writing them for others.
This comes up after visiting one of my favorite blogs. Dear Elena is written by a man who lost his daughter (the same age as firstborn) to meningitis last year. I was first drawn to his blog because of the age of Elena at her death and because a child the same age died of meningitis the same month near us. The speed of this infection is daunting, and the subject probably seems like a downer to some, but what he has created in this blog is a miracle. Some posts deal with his and his wife's handling of the healing process that comes from losing a child, and some of his posts are vivid memories of who Elena was. They don't sugar coat her life or make the writer look like the perfect parent. They don't dwell on mistakes he made as a father or how he wishes he could have her back. Instead, they memorialize, in verbal snapshots, a short but full life of a girl who was loved very much.
As I read his posts, Elena comes alive for me just like those memories of Firstborn that snap into my mind at times when I am unprepared to capture them. I'm there in his home watching Elena speed through the house on her turtle giggling and smiling with a look of determination on her face just like I'm there when my Firstborn describes his plans for capturing the toothfairy and becoming a millionaire.
I don't visit Dear Elena often because it is too hard for me. I always get tearful after a visit. But I am comforted to know how her family is doing and I am enriched by the stories of her life.
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