Remembering

I buckled my son on the bus this morning. “Remember” I signed to him. “Remember Mom loves you.” He nodded and waved his hands back at me. I waved him down the driveway. 

All week I have been reminding my children to remember as we wildly swing into the routine of September. Remember your backpack. Coat. Shoes. Oh my gosh your other shoes. Your lunch. Not his lunch. YOUR lunch. Remember the zoom time, your password. No, I don’t know your password. Why would I know your password?! Remember the book, your snack. Remember what day we’re on. The plan please. 

 “Remember last year?” one asked me. “We were way more organized.” 

We were, I agreed. I remember. Or actually I recall. Honestly, I can’t remember one specific time last year that we were organized about school. But I can think back to a general sense of the process. The feeling. I can recall that. To remember is more specific. My children love to hear me remember specific stories of when they were babies, I have ones for each. The same words in the same story. If I mess up in the retelling they correct me emphatically. 

 I just learned that dolphins were discovered to have the longest memories of any animals. What do they remember the longest? Specific calls of companions. I think about dolphins remembering the names or calls of their friends. Of course. All throughout the animal kingdom there are important things to remember. Nut and berry stashes, scents of the enemy, migration routes. But the longest memory is for relationships. 

 Two years ago I woke up for a month in the middle of the night homesick to the point of physical ache for my son’s birth country. He had been adopted a year prior. I had only spent less than 12 months total (over a span of three years) in Honduras. Why was I homesick for a country I did not know? What was that about? I couldn’t fight the feeling so I rode it. Who knows how these things work. I held my then non-verbal 8 year old closer. Every night after, I sat with him and remembered all the names of the little boys I had known and remembered from his orphanage. His specific toddler house. I rubbed his back and said their names. Jorge, Isak, Noe, Jefferson. My son laughed. And was silent. He exhaled with relief and clung to me. We remembered. 

 We remember people best. We think we don’t, we think it’s a smell, the salt, the shampoo, the wool. But it’s people. We remember each other. Today we encourage ourselves  to recall the events of September 11th. The tragedy, the loss. Where we were. The heartache. How heroes walked towards each other and humanity. Don't forget, remember. 

 Then let us remember people now. Remember we can love each other still. We don’t have to wait. Remember the calls of our companions. We can do this at least as well as dolphins. Last year I was more organized. This year I am more aware. But I still skip like stones over so much that is important. Remember, remember.  I think as I wave to the leaving kids. Every life inside the bus and everywhere --  brilliant and created. Brief as a bloom. Light as ash.