Actually, as gratefully as I remember the comfort and safety of my mother’s nighttime welcome and embrace, I yearn even more for the days when I did the same for my sons. Truly no time ever seemed more right with the world than with one of my sweet boys tucked under my arm with a small head at the ready for kissing and laying my cheek upon.
I'd love to watch the documentary you worked on, as the neuroscience is fascinating and memory, ah sweet Mnenosyne! In grad school we were told that that what we remember is never the experience itself but our last telling of the experience, our last memory of the experience. Which is to say, there's a little bit of the telephone game happening. I'm not sure if this is true - I don't remember the source on this. Only that memory becomes our story and so very often I find that while I insist my memory is correct, it isn't. But the details I remember have been important to my story for some reason and can be hard to let go, even if those details seem trivial (for example, Me: You were wearing a blue blazer when we met. Him: I've never owned a blue blazer) and even more so if the details seem paramount.
Ah! My 9-year-old came into my bed at 2:30am just last week. She’d had a nightmare. I welcomed her warmly but inside I was cursing, because I suffer from
insomnia. I’d only turned the light off at 2:10 and we had an early morning appointment, and I knew I’d be a wreck. She sleeps in my bed maybe 4 times a year. She says it would be more if I’d let her… and if she wasn’t afraid I’d get mad. I better open to the possibilities more! These years will evaporate!
Actually, as gratefully as I remember the comfort and safety of my mother’s nighttime welcome and embrace, I yearn even more for the days when I did the same for my sons. Truly no time ever seemed more right with the world than with one of my sweet boys tucked under my arm with a small head at the ready for kissing and laying my cheek upon.
I really felt this one deeply today. Your exhausted, hungry struggler spoke right to mine. Warmth there. Thank you.
I'd love to watch the documentary you worked on, as the neuroscience is fascinating and memory, ah sweet Mnenosyne! In grad school we were told that that what we remember is never the experience itself but our last telling of the experience, our last memory of the experience. Which is to say, there's a little bit of the telephone game happening. I'm not sure if this is true - I don't remember the source on this. Only that memory becomes our story and so very often I find that while I insist my memory is correct, it isn't. But the details I remember have been important to my story for some reason and can be hard to let go, even if those details seem trivial (for example, Me: You were wearing a blue blazer when we met. Him: I've never owned a blue blazer) and even more so if the details seem paramount.
memory is tricky. and so are monkeys.
Ah! My 9-year-old came into my bed at 2:30am just last week. She’d had a nightmare. I welcomed her warmly but inside I was cursing, because I suffer from
insomnia. I’d only turned the light off at 2:10 and we had an early morning appointment, and I knew I’d be a wreck. She sleeps in my bed maybe 4 times a year. She says it would be more if I’d let her… and if she wasn’t afraid I’d get mad. I better open to the possibilities more! These years will evaporate!