The Memories We Make

All nighter smile
All Nighter
March 2, 2018
Rough looking
I’m Tired
March 7, 2018

The Memories We Make


It's almost three in the morning, and I'm trying once again to coax myself to bed, when I find my mind turning to my daughter Madi. When she was a little girl, I used to shave my head, and sometimes, as we watched TV, she would curl up in my lap and run her tiny hand back and forth across my bristly scalp. She said she liked the way it felt. It was such a simple gesture, but I remember how close - how connected - it made me feel to her. It was something special only we shared, and it makes me sad now to know I'll never be able to reclaim those moments. As I finally find it in me to call it a night, I do so with mixed emotions. I'm happy for the opportunities that created those memories with her, but I mourn my inability to recognize at the time that eventually, buried amongst everything else that would grow to seem so empirically important, it would be those quiet times between the two of us that will forever matter most. It's regretful that we only gain true wisdom through experience, but I suppose it's also only by the loss of something that we can appreciate the measure of its true value. Goodnight Madigan, I love you and I'm sorry I didn't hold you tighter when I had you curled so close.

Christopher Muggridge
Christopher Muggridge
Christopher Muggridge is a creative writer based in London, Canada. He engages in a wide range of writing styles including poetry, personal essays, articles, short stories, novels; as well as whatever else may float his boat or tickle his fancy. He is not adverse to drawing on personal experience to write about mental health issues or his perspectives on human interaction.

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