Reflections on the puddle of life

Last night when I was drifting into that dark, uncertain place before sleep, a memory arrived, asserted itself quite forcefully into my conscious mind. I do not know why this particular memory should surface, whether it was the random action of electrical impulses crashing into a particular set of synapses, or whether, in some level, it was a memory I needed to recall. Anyway, this was the memory.

I was a child, perhaps 4 or 5 years old, certainly before I started school. On this particular day we had been into town and were on our way home. The town where we lived was in a valley so getting home involved a long walk up a big hill as we didn’t have a car. The hill in question had a steep rise, a level section in the middle in which you can catch your breath, then a long gradual slope which lead to our house. At the time of this memory my Mum and I were walking along the level section, and we were chatting about something or other which I can’t remember. My Mum was dragging the shopping along in her shopping trolley and I was ‘helping’ her by holding onto the handle and pulling with all the strength I could muster, which was not much. For some reason, as we were walking along and chatting, it suddenly occurred to me that my Mum called me ‘Princess’ not because it was just some random word or because she couldn't be bothered using my full name, but because she loved me, that I was important to her. I don’t know why it was this particular moment when it became suddenly so apparent, but it did and it made me feel proud and special.

I realise now that I have been incredibly lucky with my parents. They may not have been perfect (who is), they didn't have much money or an Oxbridge education, but they gave me their love wholeheartedly, and because of that love and the security it brought I have been able to grow up to be a strong and confident person. Whatever might happen in my life, even though I have already lost my Dad, and I know that one day my Mum will be gone too, that foundation that they’ve given me will always be there, and nothing that happens can ever change that or take it away. It makes me quite sad to think that there are people who perhaps haven’t been so lucky, and grateful for the things my parents gave me, even without realising it.

I wonder if one day my children, when they are drifting into sleep, will have a similar random memory about some time they spent with me, one small event, so small that if they mentioned it to me I wouldn’t even remember it. I hope that it would remind them that they were loved, even if their Dad and I weren’t there to say it. Sometimes I watch them when they are playing, and I feel so lucky that I don’t know what I have done to deserve it. I could travel the world, fulfil my every dream and fantasy and I still think that there is nothing that can touch the good fortune of a loving family.

I hope that people here have good memories that they can fall back on in times of need, or in that dark uncertain place before sleep when your unconscious mind reminds you of the things that really mean something.