I don’t exaggerate. I just remember big.
~ Chi Chi Rodriguez
I love this quote. My editor (aka my husband) will read one of my blog posts about something that we both experienced, and he’ll say, “Wow, I didn’t see the story in that, but you did.” And sometimes he’ll try to correct little details to my stories because his memory is different than mine. (And then I’ll get mad, and I’ll insist that my storyteller persona deserves a little creative license) I digress. My overall point is, I do believe that most of us writers, remember a lot of seemingly inconsequential happenings, and we do “remember big.”
The other day, my friend sent to our group chat, a picture of her poor sick baby, all nestled, under warm blankets on the couch. Her baby is now home from college, and immediately came down with some nasty virus going around. Nestled right next to her baby, was my friend’s family’s fur baby, an adorable Yorkie named Skipper, who has been the longtime, perfect family dog, for a family who consists of three beautiful, vivacious daughters. When I texted how cute it was to see Skipper, being right there, comforting one of the beautiful daughters, my friend said that Skipper has always been the family comforter. She then texted a picture of Skipper nestled up, right next to my friend’s father-in-law who had been in hospice care in their home, a few years ago, before he died. “They’re always our wingmen,” I replied. And everyone on the chat agreed. We all love our dogs.
When we visited our son, who attends medical school in a different city, over this past weekend, I noticed a trio of pictures, placed above his computer in his apartment – a place where I imagine that our son spends a great deal of time. The left side picture was one of he and his two brothers, confident and arm-in-arm, on one of our family trips to the great outdoors, the right side picture was of he and his longtime girlfriend, laughing together on the beach, but the middle picture was a giant blow-up of our Labrador retriever’s face. Ralphie, our lab, does have a beautiful, soulful, expressive face. I believe that the picture reminds our son that he has a big, yellow, loyal, goofy, but brilliant wingman, who loves him immensely and unconditionally, and this wingman doesn’t even understand nor give a hoot about medical school. My son’s soulful wingman only cares to be there (even if only in picture form) to be a devoted, supportive form of comfort. How beautiful it is that our furry wingmen feel their own highest form of love and comfort, by just being it.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.