Je me souviendrai

Will I remember that today I am a few minutes late for pick-up at my son’s school.  Will I remember the overfilled parking lot, brimming with poorly parked cars and vans.  How it always seems to be fathers who stop right there in the roadway to get their children with no regard to others waiting behind them.  Frustration bubbles in my gut as I sit wedged behind one father’s oversized Range Rover and the flimsy green fence that separates the children’s playground from the chaotic parking lot.

Will I remember the creative parking space I finally achieve by backing up like a see saw until I can squeeze my car behind the glass recycling bin.  How I make the short walk to the school gate in record time – swinging a brown paper bag filled with granola bars and two freshly popped bags of popcorn, warm and steaming as I walk.  Admittedly, I do turn to give the father with the SUV a subtle stink eye.

Will I remember him waiting there behind the fence for me – my tow-headed little boy standing quietly and looking down at the ground.  How his sweet face bears a strong resemblance to my father’s, especially when he is quietly lost in thought.  In his small hands he has a tender grasp around the little cardboard robot that he built that day at school.  The ache I feel inside for him grows as I see that my tardiness and the extra parking efforts have left him as one of the last children waiting at the fence.  I call his name and my voice lifts his down-turned eyes.

Will I remember the sheer joy on his face as he recognizes me from the sea of waiting parents.  How he seems to jump a little taller and then sprints over to his teacher standing at the gate…the last barrier standing between us.  A giant smile spreads across his cheeks as we exchange waves.  And he barely breaks eye contact with me as he goes through the requisite departure routine with his teacher, Valerian.  “Voilà ma maman”, jabbing his robot in my direction, “À demain!”

Will I remember how he runs full speed at me and buries his round face in the stomach of my sundress.  How he presses into my torso to squeeze the last bit of separation away.  I bend down to catch his delicate smell of shampoo and ramen noodles, of soil and sweat.  He hands me his bag and robot.  “Look, Momma!” he gleams holding the robot.  It is only a brief pause before he cries, “See ya!”  He scurries off to tap his friend Puck on her shoulder.  “You’re it!” he squeels and they run to the forest with yelps of glee like two puppies off their leashes. 

Will I remember that just now, the breeze is gentle after the rains have passed carrying the sweetest scent on its wings.  Dark storm clouds dance on the periphery, but they are held at bay for this moment.  I stand there amazed at the power of place, the power of moment.  And I am lucky enough to have the time to stop and notice it all.

Will I remember how good it feels to be there waiting for my young son to return from the woods.  His mind enveloped in imagination and play, just as it should be. He has no concern about what lies next – not the warmth of the sun nor the cool of the rain clouds waiting in the wings. 

Will I remember how just beyond this moment is the tender love of a child who knows that I will wait here as long as it takes. 

A child who sees me for who I am and thinks I am worth waiting for too.