I miss many things about my family. Especially now, being pregnant, I miss my mom and my dad something awful. I want to share the joy that is this new life, and it’s just not possible. I know this. Doesn’t make it any easier, but I do know that I’m making the right choice by keeping my family from theirs. Some things are just too crazy, and my family of origin is one of those things.
I’m not sure if this make sense, but by missing intangible things about my family, the importance of the tangible parts of my childhood continue to grow. I wish I could have the smocked dresses my grandmother made me. Or the small green plastic tote I loved with a duck ballerina. Or the books – oh the books – we used to read. I can still picture the box in the attic filled with items from my childhood – and my dad telling me he was saving them for me. I’m gonna go out on a limb and suggest that the man who kept a spreadsheet of every time he bought me coffee after I turned 18 (and provided it to me so I could start paying him back) probably isn’t still keeping inventory around.
Enter the amazing internets. I can now purchase – often for pennies – the books of my childhood. I may not have the handmade dresses with the special “Made by Grandma” tags, but I can get pretty close with someone else’s grandmother (thank you, etsy!). I love that my daughter will have pieces of my childhood. Despite the difficulty with my parents, my daughter will have a connection to my happy past.
At least she’ll have the books. And in my world, that’s a mighty big start.