"There were things he left behind that I would’ve run into a burning house to retrieve." I always felt the same for my children's things. They are not just things. They are years lived and missed at the same time.
“They are becoming more and more their own, and less and less mine, every day—as it should be. And the firsts just keep on coming.” Sad and happy all at the same time. These moments of paradox are the best and worst to live in, but if we are able to be there, holding on and letting go, that is where we find abundant grace, and unexpected joy on our journey. How is it your writing always grabs my soul?
It's interesting to me the "things" we hold as precious. I am a treasure person so your writing resonated with me and I felt such triumph for you getting that TOOTH back. I have a little piece I wrote that I wrote that reminded me of these similar feelings:
How to Leave Your Home after 30 Years
When you are ready to leave,
don’t forget
the tiny shells in the blue bowl
you collected when the babies first went to the beach;
or your dad’s Dubuffet poster art
that he hung in his kitchen
when he lived in Toledo
(before he died of a brain tumor).
Remember to grab the ceramic milk pitcher
that Grandmommy used at her breakfast table
for Grandaddy’s coffee.
Pack your boxes to fit your first editions of
In Search of Your Mother’s Garden,
Beloved,
Robert Frost,
and One Writer’s Beginning.
You won’t be able to take
the three hundred bulbs you planted last year,
or the forsythia,
or the cherry trees.
It would be best if you take all you need from the start,
Well, this has me crying. I would have been just like you trying to get that tooth out. I love that it returned to you--a different kind of first. Thank you for sharing this, Maggie. Our lives continue to change and I find myself both missing what they were and also thankful for what they are and everything in-between. Sometimes I wish I didn't "feel" so hard. Love to you and your kids. xoxo
Oh, Maggie. I feel this so strongly: the way time moves in jumps and blobs and boomerangs. That first tooth coming to you from the past and now bumping up against the present must feel so strange and so hard.
I'm finding more and more that the passing of time doesn't make sense to me. Maybe it's having children that makes it extra challenging, because we see the passing of time on their faces and in their growth, all of which feels accelerated. I want to shout, "wait! Please don't move so quickly!", but it doesn't work (and as you say, this is how it has to be).
I'm not sure what I'm saying here, exactly, but please know that I'm with you. I, too, could be felled by a baby tooth.
As you grow in years and maternal wisdom, it is so wonderful to look back on those motherhood milestones with love and gratitude. Each is precious in its own way. Recently, going through a large box of childhood “art” (all three children) from elementary and middle school produced waves of love and remembrance. My husband said, “Throw that old stuff away.” And I refused! So, I said, “They can throw it away later when I am gone.”
My attic is full of bins of their art and writing, from daycare and preschool up to the present. I'm a packrat when it comes to my kids. As it should be, I say! I'm so glad my mom kept my artwork and stories for me. They have their own bin up there. :)
When you save that "best stuff" it makes great material for future scrapbooks at age 21 (or 18). I gave each of my three a personal scrapbook on their 21st birthday. They loved it!
This resonates. I am writing about our own hard years and am feeling resistance just when I thought I was in the clear. It's a sort of impatience about the details of the past, an unwillingness to spend too much time there. Reading your words, it dawns on me that every first contains a "last" and maybe my resistance needs a change of perspective. I wonder if you felt similarly when writing IYCMTPB. I am glad you got Rhett's tooth back.
I second what Aysu said. As the one who left, I kept going back for things I'd missed on the big exit, like my old Nurse Matilda books, the Portmerion mugs my mum's childhood friend gave us, the felt- and seashell-covered cigar box my daughter made me for Mothers Day. The hardest part was forgetting the video tapes I'd borrowed a friends' recorder to make and finding out they had got tossed in the garbage with Old Disney tapes when "x" was "clearing out." I fantasized about tracing the garbage trucks tracks to the dump and somehow finding them again. I wished I could rewind to do that but it would mean going back to that life. Thanks Maggie, I so resonated with this.
A great story. I remember losing teeth an finding a dime from the T ooth Fairy ; whenn my kids lost theirs, the Fairy had to have a buck to leave but I saved all the teeth too. Thanks for taking me back. I love your stories.
"There were things he left behind that I would’ve run into a burning house to retrieve." I always felt the same for my children's things. They are not just things. They are years lived and missed at the same time.
Lived and missed. Thank you, Aysu.
Oh, Maggie, this one got me. Thank you. I have so many little things from so many little moments. Some call it clutter, detritus. I call it love.
We have the same word for it. Thank you, Ann.
“They are becoming more and more their own, and less and less mine, every day—as it should be. And the firsts just keep on coming.” Sad and happy all at the same time. These moments of paradox are the best and worst to live in, but if we are able to be there, holding on and letting go, that is where we find abundant grace, and unexpected joy on our journey. How is it your writing always grabs my soul?
Thank you, Jennifer. 💗
It's interesting to me the "things" we hold as precious. I am a treasure person so your writing resonated with me and I felt such triumph for you getting that TOOTH back. I have a little piece I wrote that I wrote that reminded me of these similar feelings:
How to Leave Your Home after 30 Years
When you are ready to leave,
don’t forget
the tiny shells in the blue bowl
you collected when the babies first went to the beach;
or your dad’s Dubuffet poster art
that he hung in his kitchen
when he lived in Toledo
(before he died of a brain tumor).
Remember to grab the ceramic milk pitcher
that Grandmommy used at her breakfast table
for Grandaddy’s coffee.
Pack your boxes to fit your first editions of
In Search of Your Mother’s Garden,
Beloved,
Robert Frost,
and One Writer’s Beginning.
You won’t be able to take
the three hundred bulbs you planted last year,
or the forsythia,
or the cherry trees.
It would be best if you take all you need from the start,
or else you will need to grab it every time
you walk back in to visit.
To take just one thing:
a copy of Goodnight Moon,
a vase for the hydrangeas,
and a little cutting board for apples and onions.
You will need to pick up the pieces,
to keep the memories,
until you have time to make your own.
I love these details. The little cutting board and the shells in the blue bowl. Thanks for sharing, Laura.
Well, this has me crying. I would have been just like you trying to get that tooth out. I love that it returned to you--a different kind of first. Thank you for sharing this, Maggie. Our lives continue to change and I find myself both missing what they were and also thankful for what they are and everything in-between. Sometimes I wish I didn't "feel" so hard. Love to you and your kids. xoxo
Thank you, Kel. I love your heart. Love to you and yours. xx
Oh, Maggie. I feel this so strongly: the way time moves in jumps and blobs and boomerangs. That first tooth coming to you from the past and now bumping up against the present must feel so strange and so hard.
I'm finding more and more that the passing of time doesn't make sense to me. Maybe it's having children that makes it extra challenging, because we see the passing of time on their faces and in their growth, all of which feels accelerated. I want to shout, "wait! Please don't move so quickly!", but it doesn't work (and as you say, this is how it has to be).
I'm not sure what I'm saying here, exactly, but please know that I'm with you. I, too, could be felled by a baby tooth.
Felled—yes! You get it. Thank you, Aleksandra.
As you grow in years and maternal wisdom, it is so wonderful to look back on those motherhood milestones with love and gratitude. Each is precious in its own way. Recently, going through a large box of childhood “art” (all three children) from elementary and middle school produced waves of love and remembrance. My husband said, “Throw that old stuff away.” And I refused! So, I said, “They can throw it away later when I am gone.”
My attic is full of bins of their art and writing, from daycare and preschool up to the present. I'm a packrat when it comes to my kids. As it should be, I say! I'm so glad my mom kept my artwork and stories for me. They have their own bin up there. :)
When you save that "best stuff" it makes great material for future scrapbooks at age 21 (or 18). I gave each of my three a personal scrapbook on their 21st birthday. They loved it!
This resonates. I am writing about our own hard years and am feeling resistance just when I thought I was in the clear. It's a sort of impatience about the details of the past, an unwillingness to spend too much time there. Reading your words, it dawns on me that every first contains a "last" and maybe my resistance needs a change of perspective. I wonder if you felt similarly when writing IYCMTPB. I am glad you got Rhett's tooth back.
Every first contains a last, and every last turns toward a new first! It helps to keep that perspective. Thanks, Kim.
I second what Aysu said. As the one who left, I kept going back for things I'd missed on the big exit, like my old Nurse Matilda books, the Portmerion mugs my mum's childhood friend gave us, the felt- and seashell-covered cigar box my daughter made me for Mothers Day. The hardest part was forgetting the video tapes I'd borrowed a friends' recorder to make and finding out they had got tossed in the garbage with Old Disney tapes when "x" was "clearing out." I fantasized about tracing the garbage trucks tracks to the dump and somehow finding them again. I wished I could rewind to do that but it would mean going back to that life. Thanks Maggie, I so resonated with this.
I get that impulse to track it all down and get it back. Whew. There’s an essay in here if you want there to be, Lizzie. Thank you for this.
Thanks. I was thinking the same thing. You've emboldened me, Maggie. I might have to try!
A great story. I remember losing teeth an finding a dime from the T ooth Fairy ; whenn my kids lost theirs, the Fairy had to have a buck to leave but I saved all the teeth too. Thanks for taking me back. I love your stories.
Thanks, Jackie.
I loved your memoir. I’ve meaning to tell you. I might read it again. It’s that good!