On starting to remember....
Never mind the sources. It’s the story that matters.
Even as the story has changed with retelling, its essence remains the same.
Here’s one version:
A four-year-old boy couldn't wait for his new baby sister to come home from the hospital. He was eager to be alone with her. But his parents were reluctant to leave a four-year-old alone the infant. Still, he kept begging, so one night his parents relented. The boy tiptoed into his sister’s room and stood next to her crib in the half-light.
The parents cracked the door, watched and listened as their son whispered,"Tell me about God - I'm starting to forget."
Not being a child, I was too self-conscious to ask the question of my new-born granddaughter 15 months ago, but, thanks to the story, the thought of doing so was with me. I found that just being in her presence “told” me about “God” (who is, for me, a verb and silence and is-ness and love. No single word can capture the eternal presence. No word can explain this gift of existence and life, be it old or new or in-between or eternal).
That’s what I’m discovering as I age. If I once “forgot 'God',” I am beginning to remember and re-experience "God," as I grow ever nearer to death.
Perhaps one day as I lay dying, my teen or adult granddaughter will ask to be left alone with me. Perhaps she will knell at my bed and whisper, “Tell me about God. I want to remember.”
She will “hear” my response in the depths of my “spoken” silence, in the eternal presence that enfolds us.