Handprints to remember

It's silent and I know that I will be weary in the morning but some times it just takes time to wind down... Time, such a commodity. Today was an emotional day. We swam, as we do on a Saturday. Miss three had a her first lesson last week. This week after a moment of contemplation she happily slid into the water to her very fabulous teacher, on her own without any request for me to accompany her. I was full of pride for my little lady and her thirst for life.

Then drawn by the warmth of the sun and my depth of belief in the cause we headed to the Cancer Council fundraiser Relay for Life in Centennial Park. And while the kids bounced on the jumping castle and collected show bags from the police stall we chatted and shared food with friends to remember the loved ones that had been lost from among us. My loss is not new, like my friend's. Still as the kids dipped their hands in paint one by one and carefully placed them on the canvas of remembrance something stirred in me. My voice was shaky as I asked if I could do a print of Hubba bubba's hand. I quietly willed my mum to watch and enjoy the moment.

As we drove home I told husband that the thing I find hardest is that the kids will not have memories of their Grandma Inara. They will know about her, feel the tenderness in my telling of her but she will not be a physical person in their growing lives.

This was the meaning I made of the tears I cried. And they caused me to hold the kids one by one purposefully tonight and hug husband just a moment longer than normal.