Visions of Futures Past

Let me begin with a little family business. ‘The Girl’ is doing well. On her own schedule, she ate almost the exact amount of food that had been previously forced upon her. She did gain weight, if only a little, and was up 0.2 ounces to 4 pounds, 6.9 ounces. There are two more weigh-ins before the ‘big fight,’ and if she wins, she may be joining us at home.

As the three free individuals of my family sat on Mommy and Daddy’s bed this morning, sharing a delicious breakfast of eggs, sausage links, fresh cut hash browns, toast and pink lemonade, I was struck with the hope, or more accurately, a realization, a longing and a vision, that we would one day sit there as a family whole, sharing in a similar meal. (Well, not a whole family, the dog isn’t allowed on the bed. He jumped up there just once . . . . he never tried that again!!!)

As I sit at my desk imagining this future memory, a few thoughts fleet through my mind. The first thought is that we will be quickly running out of space! Four people will be able to comfortably sit in our bed, but the required plates, cups and wonderful wooden and wicker food trays (a great garage sale find, which only required a little glue to make extremely useful) required to feed the family unit will cause a bit of a scrunch. The second thought that flits through my mind is an image of my children as they are now, or may be only a few days from now. I can see Andrew, just as he was an hour ago, picking pieces of food off his plate with either his fork or his hand, pieces of egg and potato littering the sheets around him. (He didn’t drop a lick of sausage; that was eaten too fast for gravity to vie for it.) I can clearly imagine Mollie holding Annaliese close as she tries to balance both a tiny girl and a laden fork.

The third and final image that teases my imagination is much less clear. It is a hazy vision of years to come, all blurred into one. I first see my children two years from now, Anna has become a little girl and Andrew has fully crossed the line between baby boy and young boy. Even as I try to clear the picture in my mind, parts of it change. The four year old is replaced with an even less distinct 12 year old I have hardly ever dared to imagine. There are no details, just an image, an idea that Andrew will one day be a young man. Annaliese does not change beyond the two year old I have seen. I suspect this is because I have yet to see any glimpse of her future self in her face, as I have seen in Andrew’s. It is a rare event, but Andrew will turn one way, or make a certain face and I can see it; I can see the boy, the adolescent or even the young man he is going to be.

The vision is gone.

Andrew is again the babbling two year old in the next room, doing his best to test his mother’s patience by refusing to wear pants. Annaliese is back in her hospital crib, sleeping or perhaps just waking up hungry, her mouth trying to suck on her blanket if it reaches close to her mouth. And I am left to await the promise of their future.