Snapshots

I find my memory to be a sketchy thing. I have often wished that my memory was like a movie tape that I could rewind and watch over and over again with complete accuracy. Instead, I find my memory more like snapshots captured in random moments. Sometimes the snapshot is distinct evoking strong feelings. Other times the snapshots is hazy and somewhat undefined. Nebulous. Completely nebulous and undefined. Fickle, even. Certainly, my memory seems to have a mind of its own. I have no say over what memories are captured and which ones fade into generalizations. If I could harness the force that makes one memory stronger than another....what power I would have.

Tonight, a snapshot of a memory beckoned to awareness tonight. A memory of safety. Of certainty. Of security. Unfortunately, this snapshot is one of those hazy pictures. There are points of it that I feel are distinct enough that if I were placed in the location again, I would know it for certain. Yet, the actions and possible words spoken are completely non-existent. In some respects, I am a little frustrated that the memory is only a snapshot instead of a movie reel. But maybe all that matters is the feeling that surrounds it.

The snapshot came tonight as I lay next to my son. He had awakened in the night for some reason. His cries of distress were what brought me to his bedside. He declared that it was his leg that hurt. So, I rubbed his leg for a while. Finally, I felt him start to relax. So, I leaned over and asked him if he was better. Yes was his mumble. And then he told me that he wanted me to stay for a while. So, I crawled into bed next to him, and listened as his breathing soon began to signal that sleep grabbed him once more. Was he really in pain? Or did he just need a feeling of security for some reason?

As I laid there contemplating that wonderful sense of being needed, that snapshot of memory came to me. The distinctive that I remember was that I was in the hospital. Apparently I was in the hospital a lot when I was little. It was late. Everyone in our shared room was asleep. I was in a bed that had bars that "locked" us in at night so we couldn't get out. If I remember correctly, I had wet my bed and woke up crying. The nurse came in and my impression is that she wasn't too pleased with the situation. I do remember crying for my mom. The next distinctive I have is of my mom arriving. I don't know where she came from. I don't know where she had been. But when I needed her...she was there. And apparently that was enough.

For that is where the snapshot ends.