Remember

Tonight, I opened the container of my mom’s possessions that I brought along with me. As I lifted the lid, I was greeted by the fragrance of Japanese cherry blossom and the picture of her holding me as a baby. There were tears as I lay my head on the picture and stretched my arms across it. I missed her hugs.

Underneath the picture, and among other items, are some of her bottles of perfume, of which she’d had a lot. I took them out, one at a time, pulled off the tops of those that had one, and inhaled. Hints of vanilla. Hints of musk. And the Japanese cherry blossom that she used in the end. I wanted to remember.

I thought about watching the DVD with the recording of me as a baby with my parents, showing that my parents could have their qualms with each other but that they both loved me. And there was also the recording of me as a kindergartner which showed me that my mom was involved with my education, as she would have me show her what I did in school and read and spell for her.

I didn’t find either of the DVDs, but I did happen upon a Christmas/thank you card that a teacher wrote for me years ago. I’d thought it was from fifth grade, but the year written on it would place me in kindergarten at the time, so I felt thoroughly confused—unless the year written on it wasn’t when it was written. The teacher wrote that they would always remember me—but I wondered if not from fifth grade, then who was this teacher? I scrambled my brain trying to remember. Even a web search wasn’t all that helpful.

I want to remember.

Records. Documenting. I think it’s important to remember. To connect the pieces. To see where you’ve been and what you’ve already done. To learn from the past. To both establish something better and appreciate what is and what was.