We all have childhood memories. I have many — some when I was quite young, maybe three or so. Probably my first memory was when I was the flower girl in my aunt and uncle’s wedding. When we practiced, someone tore up some paper (I think it was an adult Sunday School paper) so that I would have something to drop as I practiced walking up the aisle. I don’t remember the wedding, but I remember that rehearsal and the person (I seem to remember that it was a man in our church) who took time to make me feel special.

Memories. They can bless and they can hurt. Honestly, I’ve been pretty emotional since Thanksgiving. It was hard to be away from our oldest son and daughter-in-love, parents, sisters, brothers. It was hard to know that Thanksgiving and Christmas would never again include that phone call where we passed the phone around and everyone talked to my brother. And it was hard to have new traditions and new friends and new jobs. It was good. Still, it was hard.

I’ve been thinking a lot about memories — the wonderful ones, the terrible ones, and the terrible wonderful memories.

Does that make sense to anyone but me?

There are memories that are wonderful. They are precious, heart-warming, comfort-giving, and even life-affirming. Playing in a park in Paonia, Colorado with cousins. Driving my Grandmother to a retreat center in the mountains. Being trusted to take my Dad’s truck to fetch a load of coal — and being reminded to pay attention to the speed limit signs. (Now why would he feel the need to do that?) Sitting in a restaurant with my Mom watching swans on a lake in Carlsbad, NM. Being called a “little Gayla” at the Montrose High School. Getting my first turquoise necklace from my oldest sister. Watching my brother box. Learning to sew from second Mom. Seeing a fast white car and noticing the red-headed, bearded guy who owned it. Holding three baby boys in my arms. Dear friends, loved ones, laughter, travel, successes.

Other memories are terrible. They are painful or embarrassing. Some of them are of times when I really wished I would have shriveled up and vanished. Misspeaking and saying the totally wrong thing — and then having people repeat it. Playing the piano for the 9th grade choir during the school Christmas concert, having the gym door open and all of the music blowing off the piano and all around the gym. Being told that you weren’t “good enough” to be a member of a school club. Crying when you try to read 8th graders a story about the Civil War. (They aren’t empathetic, nor are they tolerant of emotion.)

And then there are the terrible, wonderful memories. Those are the ones that have been causing me to be so emotional during the past two months. They are the special memories. They are memories that I treasure — but they are tinged with regret… We should have hugged tighter and said, “I love you” more; I should have listened better — I wonder what I missed; I should have let him have one more sip of water; One more story before bed wouldn’t have hurt anything; We should have jumped on the trampoline in the rain; There should have been more museum visits — even tough we visited hundreds; I wish we would have gone Christmas caroling more often and had a few more snow ball fights.

Terrible wonderful memories are a fact of life. We do things and we build memories that are precious and treasured. As our children grow older, as we lose loved ones, as we move away from a long time home, or change from a career we loved to one we merely like, we come to realize how very important the memories are. But even more, we realize the importance of making more of them. And hopefully, we understand that people are more important than schedules or cell phone minutes or muddy finger prints or appointments.

I wish I would have remembered that more often… And, by God’s grace, I will remember it in the future.

How about you?