For days, I’ve searched for a description from a cherished childhood book that eluded me. It depicted a nurturing figure tidying up a child’s thoughts, concealing the unpleasant parts while highlighting the lovely ones. Ironically, it feels as if I’ve lost my own guardian angel, reminiscent of J.M. Barrie’s portrayal in Peter Pan. Now, I find myself tasked with polishing my own thoughts and hiding the less pleasant aspects—without anyone to help me.
These days, social media often faces criticism for how people curate their lives online, typically showcasing only the beautiful moments. I’m not inclined to post a messy photo or one that captures a tired expression, even though my life offers countless opportunities for such images. It’s easy to accuse me of serving only the more aesthetically pleasing slices of life.
Peter Pan made its debut in 1911, well before Instagram, Facebook, or Twitter came into existence. People have always sought to highlight the best moments of their lives, sharing them to counterbalance the harsher realities we all face. We elevate those jewel-like instances, hoping to live within them and inspire more of such moments.
Just a few days ago, my daughter’s ballet instructor brought joy to the class by blowing bubbles while Judy Garland sang “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” I watched my little girl—no longer a baby—jump and twirl, and before I knew it, tears streamed down my face.
I’m not quite sure if those tears were born of happiness or sorrow; perhaps they were a mix of both. As I experienced this quiet release, my daughter squealed with delight, bouncing around with her friends. I wanted to hold on to that moment fiercely, even though I didn’t feel the need to capture it in a photo. I knew I wouldn’t forget it.
My thoughts drifted to my mother, a vibrant woman who suffered a life-altering brain bleed at just 68. Where was she now? In her own world, perhaps, unable to recall our visit just the day before. In my memories, she was a young 22, taking the subway to perform in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.
There’s a chaotic place in our minds where emotions and memories collide—one that even the most nurturing figure cannot tidy up. I tried to navigate through the darkness to discover why this joyful moment with my daughter felt so intimately tied to my mother’s decline.
I long for my mother to be as she once was, to cherish her time with my daughter. On certain days, my child resembles her so closely. I want my daughter to know my mother in her prime. Yet, with time slipping by too quickly, that dream seems increasingly unattainable.
And so, I cried.
Time is fleeting and cannot be reclaimed. It passes while I write, and while you read, each tick a reminder of loss, loss, loss, unless we dedicate ourselves to cherishing what we have. When we capture a beautiful moment in a photo, we defy time’s relentless march. Unfortunately, this intent is often dismissed by cynics who underestimate the sincerity of our hearts.
Those lovely photos aren’t meant to deceive our friends or misrepresent our lives; they are efforts to outsmart time. While we may not succeed, that pursuit makes it all the more noble. I adore photographs. I treasure any moment beautifully captured, but the stunning ones hold a special place in my heart. They are just as genuine as the candid, messy ones that have gained popularity. Would we criticize an author for sharing only the final draft of their manuscript?
Personally, I need an inner guardian to tend to my thoughts at night. With my mother’s health declining and the clock ticking ever closer to loss, I feel the weight of time in the hours between when my daughter falls asleep and when she awakens, rumpled and calling out for me.
Each day, she grows a little more, stretching in the afternoon light. I remind myself that the best is yet to come, but I also understand that time is growing short.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a map of a person’s mind… Attempting to chart a child’s mind is even more complex, as it’s always in motion. Of all the delightful places, Neverland is the coziest… When you play at it during the day, it’s not alarming, but just before sleep, it becomes almost tangible. That’s why we have nightlights.”
An adult’s mind is not so different. The Neverland I envision during the day is filled with memories of my healthy mother and all the wisdom she could have imparted to her grandchild. At night, as I watch my daughter dance with bubbles, I feel like a lost child in a playground, needing those nightlights. I crave those pretty pictures.
As my child continues to explore her own Neverland, which will happen more frequently, I intend to be there, welcoming her home with warmth. I know all too well the ache of loss when a mother is no longer by the fire, waiting.
This article was originally published on May 12, 2015.
Summary:
In this heartfelt piece, Emma Taylor reflects on the significance of sharing beautiful moments on social media amidst the backdrop of personal loss. She explores the complexity of memory and time, drawing parallels between her own experiences and the joy of capturing fleeting moments with her daughter. Taylor emphasizes the importance of cherishing and celebrating beauty in life, despite the inevitable passage of time and the pain of loss.