I’ve been feeling very nostalgic lately. My fist born was married two months ago, my middle will be entering her last year of college and my baby, his last year of middle school.
Crazy how time disappears.
I find myself staring at pictures of my children and I have trouble remembering them when they were younger. I think, “These are mine. I made them.” And then I say, “Who are they? How did they get to this place so quickly?” I can’t help but feel regret. Wishing I could turn back time and savor them a little bit more. I think about the crazy days of their early childhood when I had no idea what I was doing and I would wish them into an easier stage of life. I would doubt and question and cry and yell and love with all that was in me. Fighting against the flow of life that moved too fast and too slow at the same time.
They are wonderful humans. They are smart and motivated and kind and lovers of God and people. They make me proud every day. I did ok. Despite of myself. But I wish I could go back and hold them in my lap and read them a story and not feel anxious and scared that I wasn’t doing it right, that I should be doing more.
The baby, now thirteen, got into the car after school, all excited about the assembly he had attended. It was a presentation from the high school about all the wonderful things he will have to choose from when he attends in a year and a half. I smiled at his enthusiasm and told him that he’d probably not have time to do all those things, but that we didn’t need to worry about choosing yet. There was time.
He looked at me and said, “I know time isn’t moving a slowly as you’d like, Mom.”
He’s absolutely right.
Time is not moving as slowly as I’d like.
But as I learn to rest in the rhythm and flow of this life, I am thankful for each and every moment I have to live and love and screw up and succeed.
No regrets. Only remembrance.