I picture you flipping to the chart of firsts, that page where I'm supposed to write down every first from your First Year of Life, and even some milestones from your toddler years. Your baffled gaze runs down the page, finding only a few scattered notes. And I'll try to explain, to help you understand.
I was a bystander in their doll games, a witness to it all. I saw the Oregon Trail from a distance, looking out the kitchen window, glimpses of three pony tailed heads and the pink wheels bumping along through the grass. I cannot bring the dolls back. But I can call up these memories, clear as a summer day on the prairie.
It was the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend and I was driving to the beach. As I neared the bridge, my eyes unconsciously ticked down to the time. As I closed in on my destination, I always checked the clock because the bridge opened every half hour for boats to pass and no one ever wanted to "catch" the bridge.