Only Yesterday

It was only yesterday you would run to me when you were upset or hurting. It was only yesterday you held me tight. Rib crackingly tight. For no other reason than that you felt like it. Only yesterday would you share every discovery. Every happiness. Every fear. Every dream. Good or Bad. Every new step. Each fall.

Was it only yesterday you kissed me goodnight for the last time. Telling me gently, but firmly. It wasn't necessary any longer. My heart missed a beat. It isn't? Where is that written? Show me. I wish to silently protest. I'm not ready. Not yet.

I think it was only yesterday when I listened furtively for your each sleeping breath. One to follow after another. So then I too, could breathe.

It was only yesterday you tied your shoes. You buttoned your shirt. You zipped up your coat. First times. By yourself. Beaming with pride. You. Me.

This week you have been on work experience. You've been surprised by the joy and the satisfaction you felt. A class of six year olds called you Mister Watson. Three little giggling girls told you through trembling hands they loved you. A boy asked you if you could be best friends. Life learning. Experience. It has begun.

It was only yesterday I stood paralysed and cold. My eyes following your every step. Every fall. Trip and tumble. On a frozen concrete playground. I stood. On duty. Seemingly, ignoring each other. Balancing the thin line. Secretly comforted by each others presence.

Only yesterday you played in your band for a parents 50th Birthday. I watched you try to hide the emotional squirms and flinches. You asked if we were going. I knew we could not. It is your time. (shhh! I can catch you on youtube)

Your wide dimpled smile sits comfortably in your malleable face. Daily it appears to morph towards manhood. Giraffe like you saunter. Finding you way. Over six foot you tower over me. Man child.

Next week you go away with your history class to WW1 Battlefields in Europe. To the Somme & Ypres. Then a few days later you leave again. For the Duke of Edinburgh award trials. Overnight. Four lads. On the Lakeland fells. Alone. Now I squirm and flinch. My skin itches. I waken suddenly from my thin sleep. My mind is pacing. Across the ceiling. Back and forth. Your bed is empty. Your room is still. My hands sweat and I blink back tears. I try to swallow the fear. My throat tightens. My breath catches deep in my heart.

How do I let go? This is the hard part. The part I have kept boxed away. How not to see them. Nor touch them. Not to reach out every day. I will dehydrate. I will shrink. Visibly smaller. I am less. Lost. To thirst for the smell of them. To breathe them in. Let them go. I know. I must begin. Or else they will tug and pull and rip themselves from me. I am told they will return.

I will sit on the periphery of their lives. On the edge of my own. Watching. Wanting. Waiting. For morsels and cake crumbs. I will drink deep from the well of memory.

She is seventeen. He is almost fifteen. How fast it goes.

And it was only yesterday...

Post of the Day winner. Thank you David. Awarded by David 'authorblog' McMahon.

Memories are made of this...

I made the decision way before I had our kids, in fact in those early days it was actually 'if' not when we had kids, but that is a tale for another day. Our family life, will no be doubt rehashed, argued over, judged and dissected over the years, within the breadth of the kids' own families if and when they have them. I felt, and still do that I had a real responsibility to be the memory maker for them. I know of course that great memories cannot be forced or foisted upon people and that they are created by the by, in happenstance and just by our every day life which brings a myriad of 'memories' to be opened later.  My belief is that cherished memories are the lasting gifts we give to those we love almost unwittingly; to our children, our families and our friends. They are opened time and time again over the years and these keepsakes are little gifts to treasure. A small example was last week ... and I thank Suburbia for her post Small Sprog battles the credit crunch ... as it reminded me of one such memory, that I reopened and cherished again. A big warm feeling!

I was out walking with our dog last week and as the trees have already started to undress and the autumnal leaves were floating gently off the trees, I spied on the ground a cache of fallen horse chestnuts, most of them opened and empty

or crushed. But amongst them I found two that were still whole, uncracked and unopened. I put them in my jacket pocket, which excited Pippa as she thought I was rummaging for her dog biscuits! When I got home, I placed them on tissue on the mantelpiece. When my son and daughter arrived home much later from school and they had changed and snacked, I told the kids them I had a gift for them and it was on the mantelpiece. They looked very excited but when they looked I think they were trying to hide their disappointment from me, then came puzzlement, and then the realisation .... They both smiled and said, 'Aw Mum!! Conkers!?' Memory opened. 'Aw! you are such a softie!' They both gently cracked them open to find the 'gift' inside, and this is the where IF you are lucky enough to find a fallen horse chestnut that is unopened, you should wait and wait to open it, guessing what size, shape or quantity is inside, the insuing anticipation is weirdly unbearable, after all its only a bloody conker! My son found he had a substantial glossy warm brown nugget; my daughter was chuffed to find she had twins, two smaller ones, a matching pair! They both smiled, I think enriched by the memory and we all hugged. I know they think I'm soft, but it's these little things that I believe will stay with them and warm them in the years to come. Perhaps when least expected and I am long gone.

When the kids were younger and in their buggy/strollers, they both loved going by the 'conker park' screeching their joy and collecting the conkers, which they displayed on the their bedroom window ledges ... they would even take them to school  for a time to play conkers with their friends. That was until about 6 years or so ago, when the PC Police, made a fuss, the press got hold and schools banned them from the playground as they are now considered 'dangerous'. How bizarre in these days of our litigious society, the schools are frightened they will be sued!

For those of you that are puzzled by the term 'conkers' and some may be completely in the dark here, I will try and explain, but remember I'm a girlie so my description I'm sure will be lacking the testosterone charged version. One chooses a good sized and well shaped, (assorted shapes are preferred for certain tactics I recall) and a hole is made through the middle, or even off centre sometimes. I would use a metal cake skewer, but I'm sure there is varied means to drill through the middle of the conker. Then a piece of string, some wool, pink if a girl and the best of a shoe lace, the tapered end is good for threading a shoe lace strong and sturdy and male. Then we would wind the lace around the fisted fingers and flip the conker with some force against the opponents conker.  If you missed you lost your turn if you hit it firmly, you kept going until you missed or the opponents' conker was decimated.

Simple pleasures of the playground...

...remember hopscotch, jacks, french skipping?

 

A contender for post of the day at Authorblog, thanks again for the mention David!