Every picture tells a story! To me, this picture of my son, when he was two, will always remain special.
Every picture tells a story! To me, this picture of my son, when he was two, will always remain special. This was taken in the summer of 2006 at Trafalgar Square, when my parents had come to visit us in the UK and we had decided to take them on a sightseeing trip to London.
2006 was a tumultuous year in my life for very personal reasons that I’m not going to elaborate here. While it was a year that I’d happily forget for a number of reasons, it is ironical, that I chose to hold onto one of the most defining moments of my life through this snapshot.
It reminds me of my younger days in beautiful Cheshire. It reminds me of hope, of unconditional love and innocence that reaffirmed my faith in life when there was every reason to give it all up. It reminds me of the little everyday moments with my son—of inane conversations, silly laughter, of playing rough-and-tumble and peekaboo, of humming along to our favourite nursery rhymes and cosy story times in cold and windy Manchester. It reminds me how I learnt to embrace motherhood after years of fearing that it would take away my independence and devour my solitude, and eventually, of my discovery that motherhood came as one of the biggest blessings that helped dispel my angst and hurt and helped me move on from the extreme negativity and depression that surrounded me at the time.
Some feelings and some experiences in life seem to defy description. They make you bask in their bliss and bring a smile to your lips, even when you know that you’ve had moments alongside those, that made you crumble and fall apart—both being equally real and powerful experiences but somehow, when you look back, you only wish to remember the one that brought you warmth and joy. Well, this picture falls into that category. That sense of purpose in the stride of my two-year-old marching with the pigeons always brings a smile to my face, leaving me with a warm fuzzy feeling that I felt that summer day in London.
Every time I see this picture, I remember myself being part broken, part happy and part despairing; feigning normalcy because I didn’t wish to talk about my feelings and yet, trying to be the best mum that I could ever be, to a little human being that needed me more than anything or anyone else.
It reminds me of a feeling that I’ve always cherished—the joy of being a mother, so unlike what I’d ever imagined in my life earlier, but one, that has since, given meaning to my life, and a purpose that I’ve held onto through the highs and lows of life.
Life brings tears, smiles and memories. The tears eventually dry up, and the smiles, well they fade too, but the memories linger on, and sometimes, as in the case of this picture, stay on forever!
Now that you’ve read all about my most cherished object, I’d love to know about yours too. Which cherished object do you hold close to your heart? I’ll be looking forward to reading your thoughts in the comments below.
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Linking up with Damyanti for the Cherished BlogFest 2017 where people post about things/people they hold close to their heart. If you’d like to join in or just read the other blog posts related to this year’s Cherished Blogfest, do click here.
