Dear me,
They’re so comforting. The good, the bad, and the ugly. They carry power. One second you’re a happy little kid playing on a playground, and the next second you could be standing next to a coffin as it slowly gets lowered into the cold ground. It’s a personal form of time travel. You could be in the present and suddenly you’re five again. Sometimes they can be controlled, but they can still be triggered. Have you ever smelled perfume that you used to use and suddenly you’re back in junior high? The strawberry scent you used to buy engulfs you and forces you to remember. You carry memories.
Do you remember Greenhills? Who am I kidding, of course you do. You spent your childhood there. It’s the little neighborhood with a pool towards the back. It’s the perfect size for riding bikes around and not getting too lost. To get to the pool you would always take a dirt road, pass a creek, and then it would open up to the rocky parking lot. A large hill leads you up to the shack to sign in and you’d race up the grass instead of taking the steps ninety percent of the time. Once you sign in you run past the changing rooms, bathroom stalls, and shower and break out into the sunlight. Then you zigzag down the ramps and to the pool. Countless days were spent here, and sometimes I wish you still went there as often as you used to.
How about the games you used to play with your Grandma M? Almost every day you were there you would play Hide the Beanie Baby. Behind the green coach there was the basket full of all different kinds of little stuffed animals: lions, tigers, and bears. The list goes on. Every nook and cranny was a potential hiding spot, and you can bet that they were all used at one point. I can’t wait until you can play it with your own grandchildren.
Don’t forget about all the volleyball games played too. One point left. They have the ball. You’re pulled back from the front row to pass, and in your mind one phrase plays over and over; “right here.” As they serve, you see the ball cross over the net and into your zone. You get low, get your platform ready and call the ball. It hits your forearms and you breathe a sigh of relief as it arcs up again right to the setter. You rush up to the front in your hitting position as the set comes to you. Perfect. Approaching the ball comes easy. One jump high into the air, elbow up, aim, and swing hard. We win.
Even though this may not be the best memory I hope you will always remember. You were five. Only five years of your life were spent with this amazing and caring person, and a good portion of it doesn’t even count because you couldn’t talk. The things you do remember, however, are some of the best memories. Grandpa O was a wrinkly man with bright blue eyes and white hair. He was not frail though. He kept up with YOU for example. Imagine teaching a child how to swim, recite the alphabet, and appreciate music. He did all this and more. He put up with you digging for worms and wiping your grimy little hands all over his clean khakis. He also spent time on puzzles with you and the occasional bird-watching. You know, basic little kid stuff. You got five years with this person. One morning you woke up and poked your head around the doorway to see him lying on the ground while your Grandma gave him CPR. A million thoughts raced through your head, but none of them made sense. The next thing you know, you were standing to the side with the rest of your family watching the people from the hospital try to save him.
You carry these memories, and they make up who you are as a person. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Please don’t forget.
Sincerely,
You.