Mother’s Feeling About Her Children Which None Of The Mom’s Can Disagree To.
Story by Emma Heaphy
One day we’ll sit together and you will ask me about this time.
We will peruse the old photos of us, and talk about the stage of life you won’t remember a lot of but which I’ll never be able to forget. The beautiful and chaotic stage of little hands and feet, of big mess and emotions.
I’ll look different to the photos by then, time having aged me. You’ll probably make comment on my then hair colour, or laugh at my then style, or tell me how young I looked back then. And I’ll laugh too. And defend myself. And compare me now to me then. Because that’s what it’s all about.
And then I’ll tell you more.
I’ll tell you that this was then, this was me, this was us. You were that small and I was that young.
I’ll tell you that we lived here in this house, in this kitchen, in each other’s arms. I held you like this, and watched you like that.
I’ll tell you that when this photo was taken, you had been running circles around me all day and I was tired. I was always tired. You loved to be busy but it kept me on my toes.
I’ll tell you that we shared many one sided stories at the sink, or the bath or anywhere really. And tears, and laughter. It was all easier then, even though it felt harder.
I’ll tell you things about yourself that you didn’t already know, and I’ll be the first to admit that I was not perfect. But I was there for you. We were there for each other.
I’ll tell you that these were the best days. Of us at home, doing everything some days and nothing other days. It all went too fast.
I may not think to tell you, but I’ll want to relive this. I’ll want to go back to just us. To be more than an after thought. But I won’t be able to. So I will take you back there with me, with my photos, and my stories and my memories triggered by all of the little things I keep to remind me of this time.
We will relive it, together. One day. But for now, let me live it longer.