This week I saw a tree bent into the shape of crooked letter Y.  I snapped a shot of it, texted it to my son with a note for him to share with Olivia: “Dear Olivia, A long time ago you would ask me, “Why? Why? Why?” Sometimes, when I ran out of answers I would say to you, ‘Y is a crooked letter.’ You knew the alphabet by then, so you would get the joke. It made me smile to remember.  I hope this makes you smile too, even if you don’t remember!”  I hit send and wondered what her response would be. Within an hour Elliot texted back: “Will show her! And she absolutely remembers. Said this phrase to her the other day and she said you used to say it to her.”  

His text made my heart soar. Olivia remembered! And remembered something from her earliest years. It tugs at me to consider what she will remember of me when memories are all that’s left.  Certainly, the older she gets the more she will remember. How much time will we have to build her memory bank? The answer lies ahead in the mists. I hope and pray that she will remember years of Passover Seders, small moments and great; my presence at her Bat Mitzvah ceremony; her high school and perhaps even college graduations. Beyond that it’s mist and miracles.

But for now, Olivia remembers that Y is a crooked letter and that I love her so so dearly.