I remember reading something years ago about how the last time for anything/everything happens without you knowing it. One day you just realize that it’s over. It stopped when you weren’t paying attention. when you were living your life.
But when you realize it is over, it dawns on you. The never agains. These events that felt like they would go on forever are now over. They are never again happening in my lifetime because my children have moved on… and so too must I. Even if I wasn’t ready or didn’t want to. We don’t always get to choose what we want, do we?
So, although I wasn’t ready for it, never again will I walk with my son to school while he rides his bike and the dog runs alongside.
And never again will I snuggle and watch Sleeping Beauty with my little girl who would fall asleep before the movie ended. Back then it felt like I would be watching Sleeping Beauty every afternoon for the Rest of My Life!
And I may have thought that I was ready for that ritual to end. But I wasn’t.
And never again will I get to hear the pure joy of my other little girl who belted out the Frozen song, “Let It Go,” every time we drove in the car. When did that stop; when was the last time that she sang that song at the top of her lungs, sometimes in tune, but more times than not, not?
I know that I was ready for that one to end, but when it did, I felt something. Not happiness that it was over, but an emptiness that those times when she sang with such bliss, caring not one iota who heard or how she sounded, were over.
When I read that article about last times I remember thinking that I was going to pay closer attention to our lives; I was going to witness our last times. But I didn’t, because how can you do that?
Years ago, I had a mommy blog where I tried to capture my children in my stories. They were not going to stop getting older and growing up, but my words could keep them little. Every time I read those stories, there they were again, my Littles. And there I was again, holding them, hugging them, kissing their sticky little faces, combing their unkempt hair, soothing their sweet hurt feelings, bandaging their scrapped knees and scratched elbows, giving them kisses before they ran off, scooping them up in my arms and tickling them. There they are again in those tales.
And now? They are all big. Three teenagers and one twentysomething. Sometimes I wonder who these teenage persons in my house are. How did those Littles become these Bigs?
But then, for just a few moments, they do something so unexpected that I see them again. They’re still there under the teen disinterest and boredom. My eighteen-year-old skips working out at the gym (which she takes very seriously) to hang out with her sister at the pool. When I asked her why she skipped the gym and stayed with her sister at the pool, she shrugs and says that she just felt like swimming. But I know. She saw that her sister needed a friend that afternoon, so she was that friend.
And there she is– the little one who snuggled with me and told me I was her favorite person in the whole wide world. There’s that sweet girl.
We are who we are and that doesn’t really change. We mature, we evolve, we get wiser (we hope), but the person we were remains. I know that I am still the same person I have always been. I have learned to listen more than I once did, to control my temper and to tweak some of my beliefs, even change some of them from people I have encountered in my life and experiences I have had. But even with some adjustments, I am still the strange, silly, quirky person I have always been.
Life changes; we change. It is practical, isn’t it? For years I fought it. I wanted to stay the young (er) mother with the Littles following behind me like ducklings. But my ducklings are slowly flying away. Looking behind caused me to miss some of those first flights.
First flights are messy, but they are also beautiful. They can come with emotional outbursts, acne and an insouciant attitude. But they are hope and love. We look ahead as our children fly from us and we hope they will soar.
My husband has always lived with his gaze pointed ahead. Whatever has happened in his past is in his past. He doesn’t hold on to it, he doesn’t harbor any ill feelings, and he doesn’t live in it. We talk about what has happened to us (after 32 years together, there is a lot), but he uses those conversations to learn from his past. His face is always pointed ahead.
I am the opposite. I am always turned around, looking behind me, dreaming of a better time. Growing up with an immigrant father who talked about his life back in Italy, I spent so much time turning around, just as he did. But here’s the thing– when you are constantly turned back, thinking about and remembering a past, you are missing what is going on right in front of you.
My Littles are these amazing Bigs who still need love and support from me. Maybe not cuddles or wiping away tears from skinned knees, but reassurance and love nonetheless.
For a long time, I think I felt that once kids got to this age, my job was done. I couldn’t be more wrong.
So I still cook dinner and cookies and sometimes a special breakfast. And although they don’t come rushing into the room to eat, and I have to yell for them four times before I even get a response back, I know that this work is making a difference. These are the things that matter.
I still talk to them even when I get back mumblings or frustrated, annoyed tones. I still ask questions and wonder about their days. And when my voice seems to be the last one they want to hear, I wait and I listen.
And just as there was a last time for walking my son to school with the dog, perhaps there will also be a last time for yelling up the stairs and getting no response or closing the dryer door that someone left open or tripping over the shoes that once again were not put on the shoe rack or picking up the dirty underwear left on the bathroom floor or putting away the milk carton that was left out on the counter.
I’m pretty sure that those last times will not be missed.
But we’ll see when it happens, whenever that may be.
