Happy places

I was replying to a comment on this post and made a reference to when I used to pick JC up from creche. I can't recall having blogged about it so I decided I would collect some of the happiest memories I have of JC's short life and post them here. As an antidote to the sadness of his death.



JC was an adventurous boy. If there was mischief to be found, he'd have been there. With bells on and first in line. He wasn't naughty, just someone with an interest in everything. There is a photograph of him standing with his hands behind his back. Blue skivvy with dark blue braces and an innocent smile that makes you think he'd never be naughty. Why are his hands behind his back? He had to hide the sleeves of his skivvy... they were wet from playing in the dogs water immediately after he was told not to. That's my boy :)

There's another of him sitting at the bottom of the stairs to the upper apartments where we lived during his life. He's sitting quietly with his cousin, both eating a biscuit. Where were they supposed to be? Inside the flat. Why on the bottom of the stairs? That would be because I heard them open the front door and "sneak out" giggling to each other so they could go climb the stairs. They plonked themselves down on the bottom step when they turned to start climbing them only to see me standing right behind them. Ooops, sprung :)

Another photo is of JC standing on the window ledge behind the venetian blinds. He would hide on the ledge after his nap so when I came to get my beautiful boy out of his cot I would find no-one there... I would hear giggling and head on outside to wave at him before he would be content to come out.

I have a picture in my mind of a lipstick covered bedhead, mirror and husband. Moral of that story is don't go outside to hang washing when said husband is still in bed and son is awake. I wondered why there was all that quietness...

Another image in my mind is of JC balancing on a brick fence, daisy in hand as we walked to the shops in Tennyson st, Elwood. A daily event and one I can recall doing while singing under the umbrella in the rain as well as in the sunshine.

I can remember JC using a wooden spoon as a cricket bat with a tennis ball rolled down the hallway.

I can still see him sitting in the kitchen sink so proud that he climbed up there...

I can remember sitting on a tram with him standing on my lap so he could see better. His little finger pointing at a treasure or someone who caught his attention.

My favourite memory though, is of picking him up from creche. There was a ritual which had to be followed. I would arrive to pick him up after my class and sign him out. Then I would wait for him to notice me through the glass wall of the room. His face would light up with such joy that my heart felt it would burst with love. Then I would open the door for him to come running out to me. He would never cuddle me though. He would run past me. The first time he did that I was crushed. Until I saw what he was doing.

There was a plan. JC would run to the end of the corridor. Turn to face me. Back up against the wall as far as he could, much squirming was needed to achieve the exact level of closeness to the wall.

Then he would point at me until I backed away from him just far enough. I would then be expected to kneel down, throw my arms open wide and steady myself.

Once all was in readiness JC would launch himself from the wall with a hearty push and run full tilt towards me with the biggest smile on his face, a giggle trailing him until he landed in my arms for a huge cuddle and kiss.

Then he would run back and repeat the whole procedure with as much joy every single time until I said we needed to catch the tram home.

This was a highlight of my week. This was the feeling I took as my benchmark for overwhelming happiness. This is what I can recall to my heart whenever I open the door to the room in my mind. This is what I feel when I look upon my sleeping children. This is Love. This never leaves me.