I hope this is what they remember– the sun on their backs. The warmth of the day. The first harbingers of spring, the feeling of dirt between their fingers, working together to make something beautiful.
I hope this is what they remember– not the times when I say, “Not right now. I’m so busy, guys.” Not the times when I am frustrated and short with my words, rushed to fulfill some insignificant task.
I hope this happiness is what they remember– the feeling of companionship. Of knowing what it’s like to have a constant twin. Someone to laugh and love with.
I hope this is what they remember– that their mother was always ebullient with the arrival of spring. How she was so happy in the garden, the coolness of earth blanketing her palms. I hope this is the happiness they will remember- not the frustrated voice she had when the day was long and patience worn thin. Not the furrowed brow shown when they made a little mistake.
I hope this is what they remember– the sound of a basketball smacking pavement as Joel rushes to play, racing against the ending light of day. The strength in sibling relationships.
I hope this is what they remember –the feeling of gloves too large, the thrill of planting and growing again. The smell of clean air and the sound of birds calling in reverie. I hope they remember this: that I will always, always love them. Always.
I hope this is what they remember. The click of the shutter, the smile in my eyes. The warmth of life, the joy that one little flat of pansies can bring.
I hope they remember times like these. I know this: I will.
“The consciousness of loving and being loved brings a warmth and richness to life that nothing else can bring.”