remember me
Day 17: Favorite Memory
This one is hard. (A lot of these are hard.)
I mis-remembered the cue being "your happiest memory" which is not at all the same as "your favorite". I didn't know how to answer, because the typical things (my wedding day, the birth of my son) are not at all my happiest, and it occurred to me that very few of my memories are completely "happy" ones. Either they are moments of joy tinged with other things (my wedding day was nerve-wracking - isn't everyones? - and I can't think of it without wishing I'd been thinner. Giving birth ended well but it was scary and painful and scary and irrevocable and scary.)
But "favorite" doesn't have to mean only happy, does it. So I could pick getting married - one of a hundred million moments of knowing how lucky I am, and how blessed, how karmically kissed - did you know butterflies took flight when we said our vows? You can't buy kitsch that good.
Or I could pick the moment of that last push, lasting a minute or a million years, when I brought not only my son into the world but also his mother - how incredibly strong and rich she is - and the tender gracious mystical trust of passing that child from my body into the arms of three wise women.
Or I could say that time when the three of us - my husband, my son, and I - stood at the altar of god and took vows to take my best friend's child as family in spirit. How crazy amazing humblingly wondeful is that.
Or the day on the field with my brothers, that I wrote about in another post.
Or the first time I visited Hofstra, or the day I learned they wanted to give me a full ride to go there. Or getting published in a prestigious magazine. Or cooking Thanksgiving dinner for my family. Or looking at the Baltic ocean, or the moon over a Caribbean bridge. Or the point where the sky meets the ocean. Or finding the deepest wound in my soul has healed over. Sharing a cigarette after love. Tasting curry. Shots of whiskey with my Dad on St. Patrick's Day. The weight of my son on my hip. The voice of my brother in my heart, reminding me that death is just a door. The hush of reaction after reading a poem. A quiet moment in my kitchen with coffee and a laptop, reflecting on life.
I could pick any of these memories.
But I can't pick just one.
the Meme:
Day 01 - Introduction
Day 02 - Your first love
Day 03 - Your parents
Day 04 - What you ate today
Day 05 - Your definition of love
Day 06 - Your day
Day 07 - Your best friend
Day 08 - A moment
Day 09 - Your beliefs
Day 10 - What you wore today
Day 11 - Your siblings
Day 12 - Your significant other
Day 13 - This week
Day 14 - What you read today
Day 15 - Your dreams
Day 16 - Your first kiss
Day 17 - Your favourite memory
Day 18 - Your favourite birthday
Day 19 - Something you regret
Day 20 - This month
Day 21 - Another moment
Day 22 - Something that upsets you
Day 23 - Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 - Something that makes you cry
Day 25 - A first
Day 26 - Your fears
Day 27 - Your favourite place
Day 28 - Something that you miss
Day 29 - Your aspirations
Day 30 - One last moment
This one is hard. (A lot of these are hard.)
I mis-remembered the cue being "your happiest memory" which is not at all the same as "your favorite". I didn't know how to answer, because the typical things (my wedding day, the birth of my son) are not at all my happiest, and it occurred to me that very few of my memories are completely "happy" ones. Either they are moments of joy tinged with other things (my wedding day was nerve-wracking - isn't everyones? - and I can't think of it without wishing I'd been thinner. Giving birth ended well but it was scary and painful and scary and irrevocable and scary.)
But "favorite" doesn't have to mean only happy, does it. So I could pick getting married - one of a hundred million moments of knowing how lucky I am, and how blessed, how karmically kissed - did you know butterflies took flight when we said our vows? You can't buy kitsch that good.
Or I could pick the moment of that last push, lasting a minute or a million years, when I brought not only my son into the world but also his mother - how incredibly strong and rich she is - and the tender gracious mystical trust of passing that child from my body into the arms of three wise women.
Or I could say that time when the three of us - my husband, my son, and I - stood at the altar of god and took vows to take my best friend's child as family in spirit. How crazy amazing humblingly wondeful is that.
Or the day on the field with my brothers, that I wrote about in another post.
Or the first time I visited Hofstra, or the day I learned they wanted to give me a full ride to go there. Or getting published in a prestigious magazine. Or cooking Thanksgiving dinner for my family. Or looking at the Baltic ocean, or the moon over a Caribbean bridge. Or the point where the sky meets the ocean. Or finding the deepest wound in my soul has healed over. Sharing a cigarette after love. Tasting curry. Shots of whiskey with my Dad on St. Patrick's Day. The weight of my son on my hip. The voice of my brother in my heart, reminding me that death is just a door. The hush of reaction after reading a poem. A quiet moment in my kitchen with coffee and a laptop, reflecting on life.
I could pick any of these memories.
But I can't pick just one.
the Meme:
Day 01 - Introduction
Day 02 - Your first love
Day 03 - Your parents
Day 04 - What you ate today
Day 05 - Your definition of love
Day 06 - Your day
Day 07 - Your best friend
Day 08 - A moment
Day 09 - Your beliefs
Day 10 - What you wore today
Day 11 - Your siblings
Day 12 - Your significant other
Day 13 - This week
Day 14 - What you read today
Day 15 - Your dreams
Day 16 - Your first kiss
Day 17 - Your favourite memory
Day 18 - Your favourite birthday
Day 19 - Something you regret
Day 20 - This month
Day 21 - Another moment
Day 22 - Something that upsets you
Day 23 - Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 - Something that makes you cry
Day 25 - A first
Day 26 - Your fears
Day 27 - Your favourite place
Day 28 - Something that you miss
Day 29 - Your aspirations
Day 30 - One last moment