May
11
2018
The Sneak Attack Of The Lasts
Posted in Motherhood 4 Comments
My youngest daughter sent a text to the family.
She joyfully announced that she had taken her last college exam.
In a little over a week, she will be graduated.
In a little over a week, a new chapter begins.
Not just a new chapter for my daughter but for my husband as well.
He has put five children through college.
This is his last child to receive an undergraduate degree.
Each of them are so grateful to their dad for providing for them and making this possible.
My prayer time is usually when I walk.
As I prayed for my children, I prayed for our youngest daughter.
As I prayed, I remembered.
Those memories made me smile.
I passed the house with the small pond in the backyard.
I remember when the previous owners landscaped their yard to include the pond.
They stocked the small pond with a few fish.
The sound of the water still soothes me every time I pass their house.
I knew about the pond and the fish because of my daughter.
Some people visit other people in the neighborhood.
My youngest daughter visited the animals.
I looked towards the pond in that yard and remember my daughter sitting on the low wall.
She liked to watch the owners feed the fish.
She liked to watch them drop food pellets into the water.
The fish would immediately come to the surface.
She would laugh and sit there watching the fish finish their food.
I thought of her purple bike.
I thought of the streamers on the handlebars.
I thought about her hair that had a twistie on one side.
I thought about her riding around the neighborhood as she visited all the animals.
Our neighbors never minded.
They enjoyed her visits.
If the neighbors had company she was not to stay.
If the neighbors were eating on their decks or patios, she was to leave.
She timed her visits well.
Everyone knew her and waved as she pedaled by them.
Everyone knew her purple bike with the streamers on the handlebars.
Every person and every animal knew her.
That purple bike with the streamers on the handlebars was not ridden that long ago.
I don’t remember the last time she rode that bike.
I don’t remember the last animal she went to visit.
One day, it just happened: she grew up.
I looked across the street at the tree row.
The old farm wall is next to our side porch.
I love to see the large stones that were there during the time of William Penn.
Now chipmunks hide in between the stones and squirrels scurry along the top.
My daughter used to go across the street, under the canopy of trees.
That land belongs to our neighbor; however, with permission our daughter played there.
She had a kitchen, with a stove that was a favorite rock.
Sticks were her utensils; acorns and walnuts were the food she served on large leaf plates.
She felt so far away and grown up as she played across the street.
Unbeknownst to her, I was able to see her the whole time.
I could see her talking to people that only she saw, as she served them dinner.
I could see her stirring her food in the large pot and talking to guests I could not see.
Now this daughter is graduating from college.
I am proud of the young woman she has become.
The purple bike, the streamers on the handlebars and the twistie in her hair are gone.
Her love of people and animals remains.
We mothers tend to keep track of our children’s firsts.
First smile, first word, and first step.
We mothers do not keep track of our children’s lasts.
We simply do not know they are their lasts until we reflect on them much later.
Even when we mothers pay close attention, there is no neon sign that says, Take Notice.
No one tells us to write this down because we are not going to see this again.
Growing up just happens.
It happens without warning, without time to take a picture.
If we only knew that it was the last time we would read their favorite book.
If we only knew that it was the last time they would want to sit on our laps.
If we only knew that it was the last time the doll would be taken out for play.
If we only knew that it was the last time the training wheels would be needed.
No one tells you.
No one yells into a megaphone and says, Pay Attention.
Even if they told you, you wouldn’t believe them.
We have all the time in the world, you think to yourself.
Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. (Psalm 90:12)
A mother may number her days until her baby is out of diapers.
A mother may number her days until her child can feed themselves.
A mother may number her days until her child can go to the bathroom alone.
A mother may number her days until her child can safely play outside without her.
Those days come soon enough.
Only upon reflection, does a mother realize how swift those days really are.
No one told her.
Maybe they did tell her but she didn’t think it was true.
Number your days, not in a morbid way but in a joyful way.
Number your days with your child and rejoice.
Number your days doing all the mundane things that they will soon be too old to do.
Number your days in thanksgiving, for your child is a gift at any age and at any stage.
Slow down, mother.
Enjoy every hard moment, every sleepless night, every tear you shed when you don’t know why.
Enjoy every lovely moment, every butterfly kiss, every cuddle, every sticky hand in yours.
Slow down, mother, slow down.
This hits me in my heart, perfectly said Gina.
Sherie,
You and I both know how very brief this time really is.
It is brief but it is, oh, so sweet.
Gina
This echoes a real feeling that I have had so many Mother’s Days! What if I knew it was the last time to hold my son in my lap? The last time for a ritual prayer and poem? Did I miss It? Or did God save me from the grief? He knows a Mother’s heart could never bear such a reality.”Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” So true. Happy Mother’s Day!
Cathy, God extends us such grace to us. It is only in the looking back that we can see the lasts. They are bittersweet and precious.
Regina