Water droplets sprang up from the mat around my legs. They jumped to meet me as my feet hit against the wet trampoline.
My knees bent again, and I was pushed towards the sky. I couldn’t help but laugh as the butterflies that started in my stomach beat their wings and soared up, up, and up until they rested on my heart.
This scene freezes in my mind as I hit pause. Friend, rewind with me if you will.
20 minutes earlier.
The morning had started out as a typical day. Warm air had accepted the invitation to flow into the house through the open screens. Golden rays from the sun heated swatches on the floor.
Spring had arrived. She spoke clearly in her native language to come and play.
The children are far more sensitive to her silent plea than I.
I find that my ears have grown dull to her cry. While the voice of expectations yell over her whispers to live.
Groans filled the room as textbooks were flipped open. Each page seemed to speak softly of an agreed protest as the next assignment to complete was found.
“Oh great. Now it’s raining. I’ll never get to play outside. My life is ruined.” My oldest child whined.
I joined his gaze and looked outside. Sheets of rain blew in at an angle.
I turned towards him and said, “Go, jump on the trampoline.”
“What?” He laughed. “You can’t do that!”
“Why not? “
His silence proved that my question had obstructed his logic.
“You always want to jump with the sprinkler under it. You have the sprinkler of heaven on for you now. There is no lightning. Go jump!”
Both of my sons stared at me bewildered.
“Go! Play!” I yelled enthusiastically.
My youngest son had squirmed in his chair and now laid in it. His stomach rested on the seat, and his arms and legs drug the floor as he swung them. He held his head up and asked, “How do you know that we can?”
“It’s one of the things that I am remembering.”
Those were the words that ignited them to action. The house absorbed the heavy, hammering of their feet as they rushed out the door.
The momentary silence was quickly drowned out by the breakfast dishes as they made their demands to be scrubbed.
My mind began to race while I watched the sink fill with water.
I’ll give them 10 more minutes to play. I still need to pull something for lunch. There’s that appointment this afternoon. I looked at the calendar. Next week…how am I going to get all that finished?
Muscle memory took over as I washed and rinsed plates. The soundtrack of laughter that played from the backyard had become background noise.
And then I heard it. Go jump with them.
I will as soon as I finish the dishes and…
Go, now. Jump with them.
I abandoned the dishes to a blanket of bubbles that rested on top of the murky water, and I ran across the yard.
Their laughter heightened, “What are you doing, mom?”
Then…
We jumped…towards heaven as part of it fell upon us.
We bounced…until our inside tickled, full of butterflies.
We laughed…until our cheeks hurt and our breath became labored.
We Remembered.
We Lived.
