Snapshots
Sometimes, significant events of my life play in my memory like a movie. Certain things can trigger them. For instance, I just heard a song that reminded me of the last day I saw my ex-husband before we moved in separate directions. We had met at our then apartment to go through things, sort out what was mine and what was his, in effect compartmentalizing our relationship into material things. It was actually the first time in years we had been able to stand in the same room and have a civil conversation. I then drove him to the bus stop, and as he was getting out of the car, he accidentally said "I love you," an old habit from when we were together. He realized his mistake, and although I pretended not to hear, I saw him in the rearview mirror standing there and watching as I drove away from him. I remember that moment of my life as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. It's not necessarily the most pleasant part of my memory, but it was a defining moment in my life, and therefore remains.
On Friday, Madi graduated from the sixth grade. That may seem trivial, but as I watched my twelve year old daughter walk across the stage to shake the hand of her principal, snapshots of her life played through my mind: the day she was born and I remember thinking how small and perfect she was; her first birthday, with cake all over her face; her first day of kindergarten; fifth grade camp. And as she walked to sit back down, I realized that she was so much more grown up than I had thought only a day or two before. She was wearing the first of, I'm sure, many more grown up dresses. Her hair was straightened, she walked tall and proud, and although I saw a glimmer of a little girl still, I also saw that awkward confidence that comes with adolescence. I couldn't stop looking at her, I think in part because I saw some of myself. Having been such a young mother, I have essentially grown up with my children. It's difficult to explain, but this was the first real moment I felt that I was the proud parent, and she was the child. There has always been a blurred delineation of who was in charge between the two of us, a constant power struggle. But this moment in her life was different. I'm not sure I can make an outsider understand it. I just know this will be a snapshot of her life I will vividly remember.
I wonder if my mother remembers my life this way. She has spent so much of it avoiding being my mother, I kind of doubt it. She shows up, usually, to major events of my life, but I am never really sure how present she is in the moment. It's different with my father. I can see that same recognition in his eyes every time I do something significant that I see in myself when Madi or Nathan do. I never wonder if I am a part of who he is. Sometimes I wonder at the juxtaposition of my mother in my life. Sometimes I wonder if she ever feels this way about any of her daughters. I hope she does. I hope she knows this kind of happiness and pride that can only come from watching your child become who they are. It's sad, but I somehow don't think she does, because that would require some introspection on her part and I think she's too concerned with herself. I am thankful that, although I did get several of her traits, I skipped that one.
I am most thankful to be who I am. More so than I ever thought I would be.
On Friday, Madi graduated from the sixth grade. That may seem trivial, but as I watched my twelve year old daughter walk across the stage to shake the hand of her principal, snapshots of her life played through my mind: the day she was born and I remember thinking how small and perfect she was; her first birthday, with cake all over her face; her first day of kindergarten; fifth grade camp. And as she walked to sit back down, I realized that she was so much more grown up than I had thought only a day or two before. She was wearing the first of, I'm sure, many more grown up dresses. Her hair was straightened, she walked tall and proud, and although I saw a glimmer of a little girl still, I also saw that awkward confidence that comes with adolescence. I couldn't stop looking at her, I think in part because I saw some of myself. Having been such a young mother, I have essentially grown up with my children. It's difficult to explain, but this was the first real moment I felt that I was the proud parent, and she was the child. There has always been a blurred delineation of who was in charge between the two of us, a constant power struggle. But this moment in her life was different. I'm not sure I can make an outsider understand it. I just know this will be a snapshot of her life I will vividly remember.
I wonder if my mother remembers my life this way. She has spent so much of it avoiding being my mother, I kind of doubt it. She shows up, usually, to major events of my life, but I am never really sure how present she is in the moment. It's different with my father. I can see that same recognition in his eyes every time I do something significant that I see in myself when Madi or Nathan do. I never wonder if I am a part of who he is. Sometimes I wonder at the juxtaposition of my mother in my life. Sometimes I wonder if she ever feels this way about any of her daughters. I hope she does. I hope she knows this kind of happiness and pride that can only come from watching your child become who they are. It's sad, but I somehow don't think she does, because that would require some introspection on her part and I think she's too concerned with herself. I am thankful that, although I did get several of her traits, I skipped that one.
I am most thankful to be who I am. More so than I ever thought I would be.