A Valentine Gift of Memories

 It was February 14^th, and I was waking up in Niagara Falls. Not that I was surprised, it’s where I fell asleep. Just saying. Hubby and I went away for a change of scene, but mostly to re-connect with friends we don’t see nearly often enough. We had a good first evening of food, libation, and catchup conversation. Yes, getaways with long-time friends are always heartwarming.

There’s something else I look forward to on these retreats. And I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel this way. It sounds odd because most people don’t sleep well when they’re away, but I LOVE sleeping in a hotel. I always get a great night’s sleep. I know, right? But that’s the way it is with me. I’ve never truly duplicated the experience at home. No matter how high the thread count is, or the number of pillows on the bed, or the quality of the mattress, it doesn’t feel the same. Maybe it’s the duvet. I’ve had comforters, bedspreads – I love chenille – but I wonder if I should …. Never mind, I digress, as usual.

So, I woke up feeling good (naturally) and after stretching, squirming, and positioning my three pillows, I reached for my iPad. What’s new, I wondered. Just then an email came through. I frowned when I saw it was from my son. Strange for him to email me. This can’t be good, I thought. But I was very wrong because when I realized what it was, it made my entire day. That’s pretty great considering it wasn’t even 8:30 AM yet.

A few months back he’d mentioned an old cassette tape he’d come across. Had he found it in his childhood memory box? Most likely he rescued it from a junk box filled with once-favoured collectibles. I’m not sure. Anyway, I did recall making tape recordings with him when he was a toddler. The first one we made together was when he was two years old and a little chatter box.

The email he sent to me on Valentine’s Day was an audio file of one such recording. Now, every parent out there can imagine how precious it is to hear a recording of your child from over forty years ago. I mean, time just stops.

I texted him immediately. I’m not crying, you’re crying, I joked. I won’t deny how emotional I felt listening to it. Memory overload. I’m sure he felt the same way. Part of the recording was a conversation – as only a saucy four-year-old can converse – with his dad (now deceased). When he told his dad we’d gone roller skating that day, I cracked up laughing. Oh, I remember that day. A day I hadn’t thought of in…well, forever.

I loved listening to our duet of a song I’d made up for him when he was a couple of years old. We sang that song umpteen times on the drive home from his daycare centre. It eventually disappeared from my repertoire only to leap back to life when my granddaughters were toddlers, and I shared the song about their daddy with them.

Our memory is a funny thing. We couldn’t have every event of our lifetime constantly active in our minds. Some hide in the shadows until one spark brings them to light. Hearing that little rascal’s voice brought it all back. The bedtime stories, bathtime struggles, pets, and discarded apple cores. The journey of one precocious little boy.

And we’re still making memories.