THE BEAUTY OF MEMORIES

Beauty is often not the things we see with our eyes but the memories of things we see with our hearts. Memories are what I have left and memories are what I cherish the most.

When I first thought about what the second puzzle piece describing who I am should be I thought that I would write about the beauty of life. And some day I may indeed write about that but what kept coming back to me as I tried to compose my thoughts was the importance of memories. I then decided that would call this post and my puzzle piece "The Beauty of Memories."

Not all the memories I have of my son are beautiful but they are a record of his life and who he was and how I remember him. They are also a record of my life and a record of his brother and sisters lives because he was and is a part of us. We become who we are because of interaction with each other.

We have our pastel memories, our bright and sparkling rainbow memories, and we have our dark memories. All become the tapestry of our lives. How boring life would be without trials. If life were forever beautiful and perfect, there would be no emotional or mental growth. There would be no stretching of our wings to fly; or facing down the dragon and the celebration of victory after the battle.

As I examine this part of me, this puzzle piece, it takes much time because there are so many, many memories. Some that make me smile, some that make me laugh, some that give me comfort, some that bring peace to my troubled spirit, some that make me so proud, some that make me cry, and some that take me where no mother ever wants to go.

I have both a photograph and a drawing I did of Christian on display in our entryway.

I pass them many times in a day and each time I look at him the words that spring forth from my soul are always the same. "Oh baby, baby." These are more than words. They are a Mother's cry for her lost child. They come from a place of heartache and anguish. A place of agonizing pain.

At the same time I see in him so much love and so much life. He was my gift to the world. We didn't have him with us for as long as we would have liked but he was a treasure while he was here. He taught me so many things. He made me believe that I was important and that I could accomplish great things. Not things that would make me known to the world but the knowledge that I could be a positive force in the lives of others. He made me believe in myself.

Christian was able to see the beauty in things that most people miss. He loved the beauty of the earth and had a true understanding of how to use the bounties of nature. Where he acquired that knowledge I don't really know but he was constantly amazing me.

I remember a time when we were hiking through the forest and I accidentally brushed up against some stinging nettles which at once began burning and itching. He gathered some fronds from a certain fern; rubbed the underside of the frond against my leg; and the burning and itching immediately stopped. Another time after we had gone blackberry picking he showed me how to get the blackberry stains out of my clothes without using any chemicals. After his brother accidentally ingested a poisonous mushroom and came close to dying, he made it his mission to learn to identify all the mushrooms and toadstools in the forests of the Pacific Northwest.

He also had a great capacity for love and compassion. His family and friends were the recipients of that beautiful love. He spread his sunshine all around and we basked in his glow.

He had his faults and my memories of him include those as well. He could stay angry for a very long time. One year I gave him a waffle iron for his birthday. I'm not sure why I thought that was a good idea but apparently I did. He loves to cook and I knew he didn't have one. What I didn't know (because we never had one) was that he hated waffles. After he left our house he threw it out the window of the car into our neighbors yard and then wouldn't speak to me for a couple of weeks. I thought he was an ungrateful, spoiled brat so I wasn't very happy with him either. Years late it became a joke between us.

There are so many memories of him with his boys; his successes with his job; his pride in his home; the pleasure of getting to know and appreciate his friends and the loves in his life. My memories of him as one of the "Jet Set Crew".

And then, of course, there are the memories of his last two years. Not happy memories. Hard memories to think about. Such a dark road to travel back on.

My mind will always go back to those hard times. I often wonder why when I think of Christian that my mind goes there first when there were so many more beautiful times in his life. His sad, lonely eyes haunt me. In the end even his smile was sad. Remembering that makes me feel so sorrowful. It crushes my heart.

How I wish all my memories of him were only of the good times, the happy times. Unfortunately that isn't possible. And while some of my memories may be hard to think about, I am glad that I have them. As I have said before, I am so glad that he didn't make that journey into the darkness alone. I am glad that I was with him and that he trusted me enough to share what he was going through. I was unable to change the outcome of those trying times but it gives me peace knowing he knew how loved he was. And that is a comforting memory to hold in my heart.

Yes, there is so much beauty in our memories and these memories keep my son alive. So today I have taken another puzzle piece out of my big, red puzzle box, called it "The Beauty of Memories", examined it, and added it to the puzzle of my life.