Day 363: The first time I ever specifically realized I was capturing a moment, I was only six years old. I sat in our brown Impala, sandwiched in between my father at the wheel and my mother on the bench seat. There weren't any laws about putting kids in the back seat back then. We felt technologically advanced to have lap belts. The shoulder belt hadn't yet been created, and its forerunner was my mother's arm, flung against my chest if my father found it necessary to slam on the brakes. It wasn't a perfect system, but it kept my head from ramming the dash on multiple occasions. I was tired and had flopped over to nestle my head into my mother's cushiony lap. She gazed down at me and smiled, running her fingers through my curly hair, separating the ringlets into finer ringlets. She smiled at me, and everything else faded away in the car, and I knew, in that moment, that she loved me beyond measure. I knew she loved me more than anyone else ever would. I knew she understood me and accepted me better than anyone else ever could. I knew she would move heaven and earth to protect me. But, I also knew that I wouldn't have her forever. I knew I better cherish her while I had the chance. Maybe that's why I still remember the moment, because I realized I needed to take advantage of my time with her. Those are some serious realizations for a six-year-old girl. I made a conscious determination to remember the moment. There have been many moments added to my memory since then. The weekend before my boyfriend was to leave for a two-year mission, I sat on the back deck of his home and watched him going back and forth with the lawnmower, helping his mom and dad. We were nineteen years old. I captured the way the sun shone on his blonde hair; how his strong muscles flexed under his well-worn Levi 501s; the silly grin he'd flash my way on each pass of the deck. I knew. In that captured moment I knew I was watching my future. I knew it was going to hurt when he left. I stored up that memory for the times when I'd feel lonely, when I'd ache to see that grin of his. And it worked, capturing the moment. I've had these moments with each of my children--at their births--their milestones--their marriages--and the births of their own children, but especially the moments of clarity when I would see glimpses of their souls in plain old everyday occurrences. I've stored them all up in my memory. Now is the time for me to write them down - make a record - because a human memory is fallible and life can be short. It seems like yesterday my OB/GYN gingerly laid my daughter on my chest and introduced me to the tiny human who had been kicking my ribs and jostling my bladder. She opened her eyes to look at me, and I knew in that moment I would never forget the feeling of divinity, of holding a piece of heaven in my arms. I instantly loved her beyond measure. I knew I already loved her more than anyone else ever would. I knew I would understand her and accept her better than anyone else ever could. I knew I would move heaven and earth to protect her. You can bet I captured the moment. My daughter was about to celebrate her first birthday when we got a call to come home because my mother had fallen and needed surgery. We made the four-hour drive. I captured the moment my daughter snuggled in my mother's arms in her hospital bed. I leaned in close and captured the moment - three generations of women. Little did I know it would be the last moment left for capturing before my mother returned to heaven. Now, I've witnessed my daughter gazing down with wonder at her own daughter, realizing how instantly she loves her beyond measure, how she already loves her more than anyone else ever would, how she will understand her and accept her better than anyone else ever can, how she will move heaven and earth to protect her. I wish I could take a four-generation picture of us all. Mothers and daughters. But, my six-year-old self was right. My own mother's time was limited. Instead, a new three-generation moment has been captured in my memory, and wisely recorded here, too, for safekeeping against those uncertain tides of time. One of my characters believes that moments are slippery, and you must grab them and turn them into memories before they slip away. I suppose I created that belief for her, because I believe it, too. It has been an almost sacred time, to spend a year searching my memory for the moments I have captured of my mother. I’ll pass them to my daughters and my granddaughters so they will know what a wonderful woman came before them, who loved them, who understood them, and who watches from heaven in support. If I post for two more days, I'll have completed my first New Year's Resolution, ever, which makes me feel giddy and ready to set a new goal, and whatever it may be, you can bet it will include capturing more moments and turning them into memories. What about you? #momscompanytowels #capturingmoments
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