To be back there, for only five seconds, what I’d give,
to bend and stare, but for a moment, what I’d give,
to drive and arrive, as I remember, what I’d give to be there,
what I’d do to just re-visit that time for one moment.
To enter again, to be with you, that time together, what I’d give,
to feel once more, the fright of new parenthood, what I’d give,
to see you, no one ever more vulnerable, what I’d give,
what I’d give to spend even one second to draw through my nostrils, again, that time.
To be back there, almost half a lifetime ago, what I’d give,
to re-establish the foetal bond, to change you and feed you again, what I’d give,
to look you in the eye, and see you looking so powerlessly back,
what I’d give, as I stare through these tears right now.
And, still, I have to thank God above,
however difficult it is to understand this love,
for God brought to us to a time like this,
a time we know – a weird sort of nostalgic bliss.
Moments as this are beyond description, really they are. We want to be there, just to reclaim the vision and mystique our pasts are swelling with.
How unfair is life that God engenders this welling love in our hearts to bear—we can’t have our pasts again to re-live, in real time, at will.
Memories, especially those of the positive variety, are a dire tease. They even frustrate us that we can no longer invest all our senses in them. They seem altogether unreal when we know we had them. Our senses betray the reality of our recall.
No matter, I guess, we do have the memory, and we do have eternity with which to enjoy it.
How utterly good is God to allow us so rich a life; to feel so much?
© 2010 S. J. Wickham.
The inspiration for this piece was the waking vision of being at an airport to pick up my then wife and our seven-day-old daughter who turns eighteen today. That relatively short trip to the hospital of our then local town was our version of an adventure all new parents must take. Even considering the difficulty and fear of that time, I would still be back there in a second.