When Someone Sends You Memories...

A week or so ago I received three e-mails. I did not recognize the address so I thought they were spam.

Turns out, they weren't spam e-mails at all.

They contained memories.

When you reach adulthood, it means you completed a childhood. We all have memories of our childhood--some good, some bad. I suppose that's true of any stage of life...good days and bad. When I look back on my childhood, I think it was mostly good. I'm sure I'm mostly remembering the good times. Yes, my father passed away when I was eight-years old and my mom had to work full-time from that point forward, but there was never a moment that I can recall that I wasn't fed, sheltered, clothed, and most importantly, loved.

That's a blessed childhood.

After my dad died, our family spent a lot of time with extended families, mostly on my mom's side because her sibling's children were closer in age to my father's sibling's kids. Though, we did spend time with my dad's youngest sibling's families. I remember those days. I remember playing, camping, spending time with cousins--and how I love my cousins--they were a rock for us, mostly for my mom, I'm sure. I remember spending Christmases with them, until, after a few years, they had Christmases with their own families. But, for a pre-teen and teenager, hiking and camping in the Teton mountains was an incredible adventure.

The picture of my mom with her sister-in-law meant the pictures came from family, from a cousin. The e-mail included the words: "And this one of our mothers." This narrows it down.

Then, there's a picture of us Taylors. My brother Alan, sister Tara, and mom. I'm in the back wearing my Mother Karen's ski parka, permed hair, and a big smile. I don't know the identity of the baby--maybe my cousin Kris's first-born, but I can't be sure. You can see in that picture our sofa system, drapes my mom made, and our Hi-Fi. That was our living room and that was our family.

The last picture, well, that's of me and Tasha, our Shih Tzu. I must be thirteen in that photo. The dog lived for seventeen years, lived through my jr. high and high school years, lived through the years I served my mission, graduated from college, got married, and even had our first son. We had to put her down at the end--that spirited little dog had no quit in her.

I don't know who sent me the photos, and if I'm supposed to know, I apologize. Maybe after this post, I'll know. But, whoever it was, thank you! Those are some great photos and some wonderful memories.