Forgetting

I am fortunate.
I will never forget what my dear, departed loved ones look like.
Why?
My children look like them, more so every day.
My kids all look like me, with little bits of their dad thrown in, but they are a genetic blueprint for their ancestry.
For example, when Bug smiles, he has that same cat in the cream grin my Daddy had. The one where I knew he was up to something and just waited for the police to come knocking at the door. In a few years (hopefully thirty) it may be an irate father pounding on my door because some girl fell victim to that smile.
Boo has his great grandpa's eyes and the cleft in his chin. In fact, Boo looks so much like my sweet grandpa it's startling. I've never seen any picture of Grandpa as a child, but I now know exactly what he would have looked like.
Punk looks like me mostly, but she has soft brown eyes like my grandma. And her smile is that same cat in the cream smile of her grandpa, only feminine and pretty instead of handsome and rakish.
My babies look like their Daddy's side of the family--at least the one's that I like and I'll admit to.
Bug and Boo both run like my husband's grandpa, kicking out their feet like Charlie Chaplin on crack and with their heads down, ready to run into something.
There are other similarities, mostly in the dietary considerations of my youngest son, who will eat almost anything. That definitely came from his Daddy's side!
In this, the season of my family's loss--and birth, with the arrival of our baby Punk-- I take comfort in looking at my children and knowing that people don't really leave us. They stay behind in tactile reminders imprinted upon our children, ourselves, and the world around us.
It's a pretty nice legacy for them to leave us.
I think I'll go stare at my kids a while.