Dried Flower Memories

Being a parent immerses you into some deep places sometimes. Not necessarily dark, but deep.

I saw some pictures of myself when I was 11 and 12 this week and it makes me realize I vividly remember some VERY old memories. I remember looking that way.
In one of the photos, I proudly hold up my Furby (ca. 1999) and my mom crochets in the background. She and I were both 14 years younger... such a long time. In the photo she is only 10 years older than I am right now.

I don't know if it's because we look so similar or because now I am a mother myself, but I see more of myself in my mother in that photo of her than in that photo of me. It's not that I don't remember being 11, because I DO; I remember the braces, the perm, the everything.
I just see the reflection of myself within my mother so much more than I see myself in the "me" that I have grown from. I'm really glad this photo is still around.

I once thought keeping things makes them inherently special, but it's not the keeping that makes a thing worth something more than it was the day it was more familiar. It's the fact that one day when we reflect upon a memento, we will be more wise and more able to fully appreciate the memories we made with the kept object. It's like looking at a favorite painting or listening to a favorite song throughout your life. The painting or song changes with you because the more life you experience the more your perspective changes. It can make you appreciate things you never stopped to appreciate before. It's wonderful.

It reminds me of pressing and drying flowers. Our lives are so short yet so beautiful that sometimes we have to look back and graze the petals to remember how beautiful things are and have continued to be, even when we have moved on.

Break over!

Quietly, I took a break last month from blogging. I didn't mean to and I didn't announce it nor did I plan it. I wrote a couple posts before I stopped in October and I realized they kind of stained the vibe of the blog like ink water spots on crisp white paper.
I took a step back, realized that yes, I was going through a bit of postpartum depression, and that forcing myself to blog was making me over-analyze my feelings. So I stopped writing, continued living, and worked on letting myself feel what I felt and then moving on (all the while knowing better than the chemical imbalance in my brain) and now it's over. I feel good again. Happy for no reason, even!

It ceased last month right before our beloved ferret, Noni, passed away. She was always the symbol of my emotional duplicity in my dreams. Usually she would help me work through the process of unifying myself between the channels of heart and mind; sometimes she would show me that I was tearing myself apart and that although I was fine for the moment, I could not truly live that way. She reminded both Shawn and I of a weasel, or a little otter.
The night after she died I dreamed that I was sitting on a bench in front of a fountain. In the middle of the fountain there was a bit of land with a large tree. An otter was standing under the tree and I looked to her. She dove into the water and came out on the other side in front of me and I stood up from the bench. She held out her paw: she had a snail with the brightest white shell I had ever seen. She ate the snail and handed me the shell.
It was as if I understood her, and she understood me.

I knew Noni was finally at peace. I knew she was OK wherever she was now and that I would be OK, too. I must remember my true self, who I am, and continue navigating life at my own pace.