Friday, August 12, 2016
Lately I’ve been missing my parents and grandparents a great deal. It happens, and it’s not surprising, except perhaps for the timing since it’s usually November & December and then again in April/May/June when little triggers hit (anniversary of mom’s death, Mother’s Day, her birthday, Father’s Day…) but really, the ache can hit at any time and without any particular trigger.
Mostly, when these times come, I observe the feelings, acknowledge them, then generally set them to the side and keep plugging along. There isn’t much to be done at this stage, you know? Grief may have it’s stages, but it’s not linear. Loss is always loss.
Maybe it’s this little ache and missing that has me clinging tighter to my kids lately. I gobble up every conversation and greedily hang on to every minute I can steal when Devon can spare the time to chat. I linger chatting in Jenica’s room at night before bed. Even Sebastian, who pretty much hates everyone in our family right now, has me pestering him about what game he’s working on or how work was, because I just want more. One more minute. One more conversation. One more story.
Tonight Jenica and I took Tilly for a midnight walk (a habit I’ve gotten into for better or worse because of the cooler temps and the low potential of running into other people) and after, Jen and I went back out to watch the Perseid Meteor Shower which, I must admit, was absolutely freaking amazing. After a relatively short period of time, Jen got bored and complained.
“One more,” I insisted. “We’ll wait for a really bright one and then go back…”
(For the record, we had to walk up one street behind ours to be able to see past all the trees in our neighborhood, but we were on the street and not invading anyone’s yard.)
She’d sigh and wait, and then we’d see one or two or three at once, some super bright and she’d ooh and ahh in genuine delight with me and get distracted from her boredom and my promise of “just one more” for a few minutes longer. Until she didn’t. Which is what happens to any mother’s distraction techniques - eventually they wear thin and kids wise up.
Finally, I just told her the truth. “Be patient with me,” I begged. “We’re making memories, like the time we stayed up late taking pictures of that thunderstorm from our roof in Cobb.”
“Oh! I remember that…” Jenica admitted. And I think it clicked. At least a little.
Each thunderstorm, each meteor shower, each conversation, each dinner out, each hug… I will always want “one more” but eventually there will be no more. Someday, the memory of us sitting out in front of some stranger’s house in the street gazing up into the 1am sky looking for streaks of dust burning up in the atmosphere will be a sweet comforting memory in lieu of an actual hug or an actual conversation or an actual moment gazing up at the stars together. Someday, I will be gone and those little “one more” memories will not only be limited to the existing supply, but will diminish in number as time and age and faulty brain wiring steal a few away here and there until eventually, I won’t even exist as a memory.
I want to exist one more day and create one more memory and hold on to one more moment in time.
Posted by Liberty at 01:19 AM