My eyes stung as I remembered the way snow looked ( when I was young it always snowed on Christmas Eve, it seemed) against the backdrop of the street light. I remembered the softness of my Grandma's cheek, the smell of her lotion, the taste of the popcorn balls she always gave to us. I cried happy tears for the blueberry pancakes she used to make us and knowing my mom, our boys' Grandma Bekeny, now makes blueberry pancakes for them . I felt like my drive to work became a long-awaited visit with my Grandma, one I've pined for, for all of the 29 years I've missed her.
My sense of awe was not only in the flood of memories I felt for her, but by the trigger. Street lights. How did my brain file such warm, loving, vivid memories in a file marked street lights? It's amazing to me that I was 9-years old when she died and so much of her is still with me, in files I get to unlock as an adult. As a granddaughter, I am thankful. As a mother, I am relieved. Relieved that after my boys leave our home and begin their own files, they will take the ones being created today, with them. Even if it's 29 years after I've gone home, before they unlock them on their way to work.
Perhaps it will be a meatloaf that triggers the memory of how much Mom loved to make the house smell like home. Will it be the sight of their wives in a robe that transports them back to a Saturday morning with Mom and Dad? I hope the smell of a campfire burns memories of fun and adventure. I hope the sight of their Bibles helps them to draw upon the faith we've tried to build in their hearts. I know a Christmas song will fill them with a nostalgia of our Christmas mornings, trimming the tree, and how much Mom *loved* Christmas. A back-to-school commercial may prompt a lecture to our grandchildren, from our boys, about the importance of education. The sight of a worn-out boot will, I know, remind them of how hard their Dad worked and what a truly amazing man God gave them for their earthly father.
As I write this, on New Year's Eve, I realize even more that life isn't marked by the passing of another year, but by the filling of a file. The legacy of our children's childhoods are being poured into piles of leaves, baseball mitts, backpacks, and yes, street lights. I hope to begin a file, today. It will be marked 'unknown'. This file will serve as a daily reminder that I'm creating Memory Files for Future Smiles.
Happy New Year.
:)
