Last month, EJ and I visited my mom in Texas, and just before we boarded our flight home, I wrote down these words.
I want to remember the moments of softness and joy found as we watched the sunsets.
I want to remember when she found the shell and carried it in her pocket until she saw me and slipped it into my hand.
I want to remember the laughter, the singing, and the way she cuddled up next to Grandpa after her big fall.
I want to remember the way she yelled, “I love you” one more time to Grandma after we gathered up our bags and headed into the airport.
I want to remember the moments of ease and love in the spaces between the challenges that squeeze my heart.
I want to remember the ways I kept taking deep breaths and asked for help and tried to keep sloughing off the feelings around what I cannot control.
I want to remember that my mom and I laughed so hard we were both crying.
I want to remember that I can just tell the truth.
I want to remember all of it.
Gathering evidence like this is how I make sense of The And Spaces I find myself in as I move through my life. Putting the words down, pairing them with a photo, becomes the way I see through all the stuff when it bubbles up inside.