Of unicorns and memories.

I have one grand who lives pretty far away and so I don’t get to see her as often as I like. But when I do,there’s almost always something special that goes down.She and I recently kept company and I hadsome things to give her when it was time for her long car ride home. I explained that her presents werein Papa’s car and, as we were walking to it, I asked if she had any memory of him at all. I couldn’timagine that she could; she was so young when he died.She stopped a second and then said, “I think he thought my little pony unicorn was a horse!”Now thatmight have been the last thing I expected her to say and I have no idea in the world if Charles everplayed that game, but it sure made me laugh. At the same time, a part of me had a bit of a gut grabbecause I thought there’s no way she could actually remember that  and it would be such a preciousmemory if she could. But then she looked up at me and said, “But you know, I’m not sure. Sometimes Ithink that maybe it’s my dreams that I think are memories.” She was clearly okay either way.Our family and friends made the decision almost from the beginning that we would never NOT talk aboutPapa. Over the years, the painful memories have gradually become smiley ones, for everybody. But shewas the one most deprived of time with him, and I’ve always hated that. Now it seems that somehowthose conversations have also transformed the memories of a baby. This sweet child is ten years oldnow and in that moment she handed a gift to me far greater than anything I could ever have in the carfor her.