Plus ca change ... plus c'est pareille ... or is it?

So another whirlwind couple of days … my mom and nephew Merick came to visit and I’ve just returned from dropping them off at the train station. The rest of us are just in the process of putting up our feet, reliving the memories and cleaning up so that we can move on to other things.
Creating memories … good, bad or indifferent … is one of those miracles of life. But maybe more so is the process of distilling through all the available moments … (as we’re all doing individually and collectively) … to pull out and cannonize those moments that will become the representations of the time spent together …
… the contenders: (i) Merick’s face as he met Nic’s boy-friend, Ali (ii) Kyla coming home from work with the perfume my mother had mentioned the night before as being the scent she used as a young woman but could no longer find (iii) Merick and Peanut Butter coming to an understanding (iv) cooking hot dogs over the fire and eating way too many smores (v) Canada’s Wonderland and Behemoth (vi) Merick’s answer of “douche bag” (it’s a long story) (vii) my mother and I butting heads and actually coming to a friendly, “mature” compromise (finally) …… and the winner is …
Undoubtedly different for each one of us …
As for me, though I loved spending time with Merick and enjoyed watching the kids pick up from where they’d left off a few years ago … selfishly the winner is (vii) … my mom and I …
When we were battling, locking horns in what seemed an impossible stand-off … when the tones, words and voices repeated phrases that had echoed throughout our relationship for over four decades now filled the air … my stomach knotted believing that perhaps this relationship was never fated to move out of this rut in the hamster wheel of life.
It took two confrontations for there to be the parting of the seas … the rainbow appeared and behold … we both found ourselves on the other side. A little bruised and battered but both of us knowing that this battle would not see daylight again.
It’s a personal thing … but the moment feels holy … pivotal. And you know what … it doesn’t seem as bad anymore that the kids tell me that I remind them of gramma every now and again … I don’t just see the bad anymore …
… actually may end up being something that makes me proud …