Memories. They are funny things. So easily over the last seven years, I could associate the concept of memories to being painful ones. The early years after the twins were born were just that. I would recall the early part of the twins’ life in a shadow of darkness. Everything the doctors warned me ‘would never happen’ played havoc in my mind, as I lived through the Neonatal peroid under a spell of heartache with a promise of a bleak future.
As much as a cliche as it is, time was a healer which taught me to live in the moment. Only the twins would dictate their own destiny and over the months that unfolded, I saw them thrive and develop into children who were far from the children that medics had created in my mind.
The biggest lesson I learnt from this was just as my husband had taught me – that we had to love them and the rest would take care of itself.
At the start, I wasn’t sure what ‘the rest’ entailed. I was victim to the love I showed them, yet the love was my biggest tool to facing an uncertain future. As much as I had associated the early years with painful memories, over time I began to see the importance of memory making.
None of us have a crystal ball. None of us truly know what path we will take or what life has in store for us. Yet, when you are dealt cards that make life slightly more turbulent and unsure, it’s important to face things head on and build up a memory bank of the most precious things in your world.
I have been able to transform my mindset from the demons of painful memories, from the time where I wanted to block out the experiences the new world of disability propelled us into, to go on and see how the best thing about memories is the process of making them.
Memories are the unique and special moments that tell our story. They are things that can never be taken away. They are the cementing of love and time spent with the people dearest to us. For us, it’s cherished time – a moment and experience to capture – where time stands still.
Today, this Christmas, we spent some memory making time. We asked a very talented lady, Lucy, along on a morning out with us. She brought along her personal nature of sunshine, with her camera, and luckily some wonderful weather. As our close family of 5, we spent the morning in the crisp winter sun, playing and strolling in the grounds of our local castle – where I myself had grown up, echoing memories of my childhood.
Lucy, in her calm and understanding manner, captured in images the love between us and the importance of our family. The bond between my boys is pure and the pictures she naturally caught on camera meant this was captured for eternity. Thank you Lucy for sharing your gift.
No one can remove those memories. No amount of surgery, no poor prognosis, no threats of further impact of disability can change these.
The beauty of this morning, the fun we had, the giggles we heard, the bubbles we chased, the time we spent – it can not be extinguished. We built the memories – but Lucy captured them in a way that was so perfect and so pure, that I will always be indebted to her and her talents.
I don’t know what cerebral palsy and it’s associated medical mates have in store for us. I don’t even know what tomorrow will bring. However, what I do know is that today, we built more memories of a time with our children which was blissful. It was a happy time which no amount of ill health could threaten.
Be happy with the ones you love. Be together. Laugh and love. Cherish those around you. Build memories that make you smile.
Memory making is so very important, not just for families like mine, but for all of us.
When time is precious, nothing matters more.