Day 17 of 24/7

This ties into yesterday's work, and is an actual conversation I had with my daughter when she was a tiny thing.

Memories of another time

“When I was the mother and you were the baby, I used to read to you.”

She sits in my lap, the story book in her lap as I read to her. She is no more than three, maybe only two and a half. “Oh, really?” I say.

She nods. “There was a man who was mean to me,” she tells me. I encourage the memory, for such it must be. “And my Aunt Sarah.”

“Where was this?” I ask.

“S—Sc—Sco--Scotland?” She struggles with the word. We've never spoken of Scotland, that I remember. I knew someone named Sarah when I was in grade 6 or 7, but haven't seen her in decades. This fascinates me, the memories of a baby whose mind is closer to there than here. She is convinced that she speaks Spanish and has dreams of the house in Scotland.

Fifteen years later, she remembers the dreams, and we wonder what paths we have travelled together.