Just before I fully awakened, the thought struck me.
One of my children is getting married.
One of my babies. One of my little girls. She's 23.
No. She's two. Six. 10. 13. 15. 18. 20. She's all of those.
Scenes flashed from each age in my mind. Our history together.
The moment I first held her at the hospital. The time she cartwheeled down the steps at our house on 34th St. and I caught her at the bottom. Bath time. Bedtime/devotions and singing. A big wheel in the driveway. Sidewalk chalk drawings. Jo and Em playing together. Walking near the park and picking clover flowers, nuts, and lots of golf balls. Stuffing Emily's face in a snow bank in their snow suits. Jogging with me just to please me, and crying when she realized she really didn't like it. Me coming home from work when she was about two, anxious to find out what new thing she had done while I was gone. Kids learn something new every day at that age.
Uncomfortable (for her, I think) "'tween" years. Girls and cliques. Dance. Learning to drive. Graduation. Going away to college. Bringing home Josh.
During the last few years, when we would part for a school semester, I had an overwhelming desire to do it all over again. Not do "get it right" or change anything, but just to enjoy every moment once more.
Yes, I know that there will be many more great memories. The happiest of times. The rough times that she has pulled through. The times of great gratitude and those of great challenge. But I'm jealous. Jealous of the past. I'm greedy. I want to do it again.
I want to be part of her life. But time has laid that in cement. What's done is past. There is no changing it.
She reminds me that I am part of her life. Like last night when we went for a walk. And I remember the times in Boulder when she and I would go explore the mountains, hunting for beautiful spots, while the others went shopping. Or smoking a cigar to celebrate the end of a hiking trip in Moab, Utah.
She's so very special.
I want more.
Life is too damn short.
My hope is in eternity. C.S. Lewis describes a woman from heaven who, as one looked at her, saw all that she ever had been, young, old, in-between; all that she ever would be; and all that she is; all at the same time -- glimmering, shimmering and changing in her glory. Yet, at each and every instant, known for exactly who she is.
May it be so. And may we, my friends and family, spend it together.
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