A Cherished Forever Memory

Ironically, given how many photos of my kids that I take and post, some of my most cherished images of them are ones I hold only in my heart.  I've written before about "the video I didn't take," and can still close my eyes and picture Jada running down Forbidden Drive into her mother's arms.  Let me now describe a recent memory of Asher that I am similarly committing to memory.

It had been a long day.  Asher was difficult at breakfast and difficult at school, and it was weighing heavily on me.  I was having trouble keeping track of small and big things in Aaron's and Jada's lives, so those things were swirling in my head as well.  Finally, juggling work and School Board and teaching at Penn had left me spent at the end of the day, and Amy's demanding job had similarly had her at her wit's end. 

I hadn't even changed out of my work clothes, let alone sit down to catch a breath and grab a bite.  I was already thinking about the things I needed to catch up on once I'd put Asher to bed: work and School Board emails, teaching notes, report cards and permissions slips from Jada and Aaron's school, more than one day's worth of mail.  I was tired in every way imaginable.

And then I went down the hallway and peeked into our bathroom, where Amy had finished washing Asher and was giving him a few moments to play with bath toys before she got his pajamas on.  This little guy, who had been a holy terror earlier in the day, whose short-term and long-term wellbeing I have been deeply distressed about, was playing quietly and happily in the bathtub.  He was flashing his million-dollar smile as he squirted water from one toy onto another toy.  

The serenity of the moment arrested me.  I stopped, and all of the day's worries melted away as I focused my attention on our little guy.  Maybe his day was a mess, and maybe a complicated life awaits for him.  But, in the moment, he was happy, healthy, and safe.  So I took the moment to sit in that reality, recording both the imagery and my feelings about it in my brain to cherish forever.

Of course, being preternaturally incapable of keeping either the past or the future too far from my thoughts, I immediately wondered what it would've been like if there was another child in that tub, a tiny little 1 1/2 year old girl who delighted in her big brother and his doting over her.  Our feelings of grief over so many failed adoptions are less painful, but they do linger.  But, mercifully, such thoughts do not overwhelm us.  If anything, the sadness is less a feeling of fresh pain than it is like running your hand over a scar that has largely healed and that takes you back to a significant moment in your life.

At any rate, back to Asher.  I lingered outside the bathroom and out of his sight, just to allow myself an extended moment to observe him without him seeing me.  But then I couldn't resist.  I walked in, and he noticed me and his face lit up.  His silent play quickly pivoted to excited narration of what he was doing, and I soaked up every word.  But as great as it was to play with him in the tub, it was even greater to have been able to watch him right before.  That's another forever memory I'll hold in my heart with great joy and gratitude.