Unremembered Joy

The laundry still needed folding. Christmas presents still needed wrapping. The dishwasher was only half unloaded.

We sat outside on the blue quilt from Aunt Suz ignoring all of that because this was a rare December day. A day when the blue sky and warm sun belied the Advent season.

He is only six months, so he will have forgotten those happy moments by the time he wakes from his nap. In six more months, I will not remember the day with any exactitude.

Will I remember how the gusts of wind literally took his breath away? Will I remember the delighted babbling or his squeals of irrepressible excitement? Will I remember how happy he was that he tried to hug me? Will I remember his thoughtful face as he tries to figure out what that handful of grass is?

Probably not, but it makes today even more precious. It will go as quickly as it came, indistinctly recalled, a blur of happiness in our cognitive archives. The spontaneity and brevity are its perfection.

A joy unremembered is a joy nonetheless.

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