on remembering

I feel like I didn’t write much about spring, forgot to record the way the raindrops fell and fell on the places snowflakes had been, the way new buds dangled from branches like clip-ons, a row of grandmother’s earlobes all lined up.
And suddenly it’s summer.  Spring is over, and the only way to get it back is to wait a year.

I’m afraid I’m failing to record important things about the boys.  And the difference is, although spring won’t ever be exactly the same, it will be back again next year, wet and green and growing.  But five year old Tucker and two year old Tolliver will be gone for good.

We ushered in summer the same way most of the country did, with hot dogs and watermelon and popsicles, marching bands and American flags and family.  And with gratitude.  Our pace, our pulse, will change some with the warmer season, the sun bringing with it an invitation to remember that busy-ness is not a virtue.

I had time over the holiday weekend to think about what I want to remember about right now, to notice how big they’re getting, and how small they still are.  To realize they are always more new than gone.

bowties made by Grandma from postal neck ties worn by Great Grandpa Jim, veteran of WWII