He won’t remember.
(After all, he is only 2 ½.)
But I will.
I will remember going for walks with him.
Not just walking, but jumping and hopping our way along.
I will remember our making up names for the horses we saw in the field.
I will remember his laughter as we threw stones into the lake.
Over and over and over again.
I will remember his trust as he held my hand and walked on the log.
And, then jumped off.
Then, running back to the beginning to do it all again.
He won’t remember any of those things.
But I will.
All those memories are a gift.
Held in trust as I watch him grow up.
Maybe all memories are that.
And, that way.
A gift.
Gently and carefully held by those who love us.
A sacred reminder of who we are.
And where we have been.
And, of those who have held our hand along the way.