MY EARLIEST MEMORY

My mother used to have a cabinet with several shelves that brimmed with trinkets. Each item had some kind of nostalgic significance. Perhaps it had been given to her by her mother or sibling or she had bought it on some special trip or occasion. The monetary value of these items was not over a couple of dollars each, but the sentimental value was priceless.

One day when I was four years old I was helping my mom dust the trinkets. I used to love to handle each little object and examine it as she would tell the story behind it. I was about to be the flower girl in an upcoming wedding for my mother's sister, my Aunt Pat, and it was obviously weighing heavy on my four-year-old mind. On this particular day, we talked as we worked, and I can still remember the salty taste of my tears streaking their way into my mouth as I pondered growing up and leaving her someday. How could I live without my mom’s sweet hugs and precious moments such as this? It was impossible to imagine ever, ever wanting to leave her. I wanted her to tell me that I didn't have to go, that we'd never have to part if I didn't want to. I felt completely devastated as she tried to explain that I would actually choose to go away. She wiped the tears from my eyes and hugged me as she tried to make me understand that I would eventually grow up, fall in love, marry and have children of my own.

I truly don't remember how that temporary trauma of my otherwise happy little-girl world resolved that day. It fades in my mind like the day turning into night, disappearing into nowhere the same way I remembered it.

The significance of this tiny slice of my childhood has eluded me for many years. I spend most of my time nowadays trying to prove my independence and strength. I am still not sure if that is good or bad—it just is. Though I still love my mother dearly, of course, sometimes I catch myself taking her for granted or even allowing everyday stresses to irritate me to the point that she catches the sting of my frazzled nerves. Perhaps my subconscious mind is trying to remind me of the precious bond my mother and I once shared and that it is okay to miss the days when I had nothing to prove, the days of following her around like a puppy, probably more in her way than anything and loving just being in her shadow.

This poignant memory is deeply embedded and stored in the warm and fuzzy file of my mind. I may not be able to remember what I had for breakfast this morning, but when I recall that day the emotions I felt all those years ago come flooding back. It brings a tear to my eye and a lump in my throat. And for just a moment I am four years old again, begging my mother to please let me stay with her forever.