Looking back to face forward

I’m not sure when Facebook added the THIS DAY ___ YEARS AGO feature, reminding us what we had posted on this day in years past. It is often nice to reminisce about a concert a year ago or some silly family event that a picture captured perfectly. I often stop for a moment, let my mind drift back in time, smile, and move on.

In addition to those relatively recent events, come posts as long as ten, twelve even THIRTEEN years ago! First, I am not sure what I was doing, chronically every Americano I drank or telling the world I was on call in the ICU. I sincerely apologize to anyone and everyone I was Facebook friends with back then for annoying you with such egocentric musings. But what is truly killing me are the other post and pictures. My kids when they were well “kids” instead of the young adults they are now. Seeing curly hair that is now straight, braces now removed, playing a little league game with that mitt broken in from a winter’s worth of nights under the mattress, innocent smiles that hopefully are not gone forever. I see myself in some of these pictures. More hair on my head and a lot less grey. Long runs at three in the morning while still at work by seven. Fewer wrinkles, no beard. Carrying less weight on my shoulders despite a child sitting on top of them.

It takes me more than a few moments before I am able to collect myself from these memories.

Facebook continues to remind me that at one point I thought I had all the time in the world. More time to watch the girl with curls swing across the monkey bars. More time to play catch with the boy wearing that baseball mitt. More time to run before my knees creak and my back aches.

How naïve I was.

I am working on embracing, not lamenting, the inevitable changes in myself and family that continue to occur. I am also trying to avoid all the clichés here.

“If I knew then what I know now”

“If I could do it all over, I would change…”

I will admit these thoughts flutter and float between my ears longer than I’d like. I try to change my focus to the future. And then I remember there is still the here and now. My daughter, who has outgrown her curls, is driving and dancing while fitting in her homework and friends. My son, who has outgrown that baseball mitt, is taking on new challenges on a daily basis. And I have a few more early morning runs left in my knees and back before I hang up my running shoes and visor.

So thank you Facebook. For my daily reminder of “this day years ago”. And in turn, hopefully not forgot what I still can do today.

Sixteen Redux

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There you are, in the big chair, half curled and snuggled up against me. A tangled clump of hair covers part of your face.  You’re somewhere between wake and sleep listening to Goodnight Moon and my made up stories of butterflies and rainbow fish. You are warmth to my perpetual chill.

There you are, lying sideways asleep in the bed. Crumpled sheets draped over you rhythmically rise and fall with each breath. You are eight or nine years old? The stillness of this tableau a striking contrast to your boundless energy and movement during the day.  I stand, a sentry in front of your door making a silent promise to protect you always from the darkness. All the while fighting back my own fears. Fears of the randomness of the fates that even a father’s love sometimes cannot overcome.

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Bittersweet

There you are amongst the crowd. One of thirty freshman.  And my breath is taken from me. For a moment, the briefest moment, everything else on my mind fades away. The whirlwind of stress that has been the background beat for the last several months is now muted, and my focus is on you.  My daughter. Maya.

There you are amongst the crowd. One of thirty freshman flittering about for pictures prior to homecoming. But you are not flittering. You are my little girl, but you are not little anymore. My whirling dervish, my often naked chaos creator, the little one who was too scared to stand up and  “graduate” with her pre-school class, my  troublemaker who smeared tuna salad in the baseboard heater while we slept, my little girl who it seems has now grown up almost overnight.

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