“Tomorrow Grandma and Grandpa are going home.”
“Well, both. My Grandma and Grandpa are going home to Colorado and Daddy’s Grandma and Grandpa are going home to Massachusetts.”
“I want to go home, too.”
“You are home, silly.”
“No, to our old house.”
“You don’t even remember our old house.”
“Yes me do, it’s blue.”
Actually, it’s white with taupe trim and the walls inside were green and yellow. And he was only two when we moved two years ago.
Two years. It’s kind of hard to believe that we’ve been in our “new” house for two years. Our house that still has unpacked boxes and fabric for curtains that aren’t yet made.
We have a picture hanging in our family room of our house in Dublin. Honeybun will walk by it sometimes and wistfully say “I miss our red door,” the loving name she gave our home in Dublin when she was just learning to talk. She learned her colors as we walked down the street and named all the colors of the doors until we found our, the only red door on the block.
Except now the door is green, and it’s no longer ours. When we went back to visit two summers ago, she didn’t remember anything from our time there. She was just shy of her fourth birthday when we left and barely seven when we returned.
Nearly five years ago we packed our bags and said good-bye to our friends and our red door. We returned to Florida, ready for a new adventure and more time with family.
Pipsqueak now spends his days chasing our cat, Frank, and screaming “Monk,” his standard term for all cats and dogs. The word he picked up from our other beloved cat.
It’s been almost two months since we lost her. And while the rest of us still suffer from what feels like unmendable broken hearts, I can’t help but think that my busy little toddler probably doesn’t even remember her.
Sugarplum looks through her treasure box and asks “Who gave me this?” I tell her it was from Great Grandma and she asks which one. She had three great grandmas and one great grandpa for the first three years of her life, but we lost each of them one by one and now she only remembers Great Grammy, who outlasted the rest.
It’s been 3 1/2 years since we lost hubby’s grandpa and just over two years since we lost Great Grammy. And while I remember her being cradled in each of their arms, she doesn’t remember those special moments and people at all.
It’s strange sometimes to think about how very little of their lives my small children actually remember. How they don’t remember many of our lives greatest adventures or how my favorite memories will only be familiar to them through the pictures we’ve taken.
But that doesn’t mean I’d give those memories back. Just because they don’t remember everything I do certainly doesn’t mean those moments weren’t worth having!