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Tuesday, February 24, 2015

There are very few vivid memories of my childhood left that haven't been created and recreated by photographs.  I remember the photographed experiences like they were yesterday.  The photos keep them fresh in my mind.  There is one memory that I do hold.  I hold it strongly but there isn't a photo of it anywhere but my own mind's eye.


The lay-z-boy recliner was an orange rough fabric that my father loved.  It was his chair and we loved it because he did.  In all honesty it was a terribly ugly chair yet it held the love of our family for years.

I hold this memory like the recliner held us.  Tenderly.  With Love.

As a small child I climbed up onto my daddy's lap as he sat in the recliner and laid my head on his chest.  I remember how my head rose and fell to the rhythm of his breathing.  I fell asleep or at least dozed off.  I remember waking hoping that he wouldn't make me move.  I didn't want the moment to end.  Imagine.  A small child wishing to hold onto time.

The soft touch between my temple and his rhythmic breathing comes to me often and has for years, long before he passed.  It was especially close to my heart last week as I held my dear baby Em on my chest.  She was home with her first ear infection and her usual energetic nature had succumbed to fatigue.  She had cried and hollered until finally her head hit my chest with a crash and as if a switch had been flipped she fell asleep.  Her head pressing against my chest.  I watched as it rose and fell with the rhythm of my breath.  This time I felt the weight of her on me like my dad felt all those years ago.  I felt her tummy press ever so gently into mine as her breathing slowed with sleep.

Will she remember this moment?  Will I?  Maybe not in our minds but it is etched into our hearts.  The rise and fall of our breath together is us.  Part of our connection as mama and babe.  When my girls have grown and are following their dreams I'll call up these feelings of love and peace from my heart to fill my mind and soul.

9 comments:

  1. I'm glad you joined the SOLSC today. When you leave your link over at Two Writing Teachers, please leave the permalink to your post in the body of the comment. (You left the URL to your blog, not the permalink. The permalink from this post is
    http://deepbreathstowrite.blogspot.com/2015/02/there-are-very-few-vivid-memories-of-my.html.) Feel free to email me if you have any questions.
    THANKS!

    Thanks,
    Stacey

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  2. Oops. I hit send without leaving the rest of my comment.

    I write so that I can remember special moments and little bits of life that I'd otherwise forget. I don't want pictures of everything... I think the words that capture the memories are so important.

    Beautiful slice!

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  3. You create a very vivid image .. I can see the orange lazy boy chair .. the little girl asleep on her dad's chest. It's ironic that you are creating the same memories, but in a different role. Nice story to hang on to!

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  4. I love the line: I hold this memory like the recliner held us. Tenderly. With Love. Memories are so powerful as we move on in years with our children. We remember the moments that you so vividly portrayed.

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  5. I love the line: I hold this memory like the recliner held us. Tenderly. With Love. Memories are so powerful as we move on in years with our children. We remember the moments that you so vividly portrayed.

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  6. This is such a tender and beautiful piece of writing. The memories will be more and more precious as the years go by.

    The one I loved was "Imagine. A small child wishing to hold onto time."

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  7. Beautiful! I can feel her hot little head hitting your chest. That little sweaty forehead, hair stuck to skin… I love the heart etching too. That is SOOOO true. From a mom of an eighteen year old, I tell you, I remember those quiet moments like they were yesterday, and I hold them tight.

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  8. This is beautiful - a tale of parallel experiences, separated by years but joined by love.

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  9. Marie, such tenderness unfolds across this slice of life story. My Da too sat in a recliner. I love when you wrote: "It was his chair and we loved it because he did."

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