On Family

My mom really cherishes the memories she has of us kids when we were little. She’ll tell us stories of cute things we did (sometimes rather repeatedly 🙂 ). Because I’ve heard these stories so many times sometimes I kind of have flashes of déjà vu when E does something my mom told me I used to do as a child myself.

his weekend E ran unprompted to the corner of our yard set aside for a garden (but which is currently only growing dandelions) and carefully picked a bright yellow flower. And then he ran back to me and proudly thrust his little flower up at my face and said “Flower for mama!” It was very sweet.

I did the exact same thing when I was two or three. My mom relishes retelling the story, delighting in the toddler sweetness. I’ve heard it recounted so many times that sometimes it feels like I almost remember when it happened, fist clenched tightly around a yellow weed as my chubby little legs pump across the grass.

Like most people, my family is of essential importance to me. My religion teaches–and I believe–that families are able to be together after this life. The more I live and I experience the same things as a parent that I did as a child the more I feel like a link in a gleaming chain that stretches on and on.