I am not sentimental on a daily basis, mainly because I am too busy watching The Bachelor. But there are definitely moments when I realize how much time has gone by since my children were babies, since they needed me for things like getting dressed and getting their breakfast. And although I celebrate my freedom from those tasks, I also mourn the milestones. Because they’re gone, baby, gone and every day my children get closer to leaving me to live their lives, take their risks, make their mistakes and follow their hearts to find the very best assisted living facility that they can afford for me and their father.
And when I get sentimental like that, I look through my box of special items that I want to remember forever. The hospital bracelet identifying them as my babies, the yellow pediatrician’s card that keeps track of their immunizations and growth and various cards and notes that they’d bestowed upon me. I don’t often indulge in such nostalgia, but I did recently. And I found this:
My heart tightened when I read this note from my daughter. I remember it well. She wrote it on a summer day, three years ago after she called me an idiot and I grounded her forever or until she eeked out an apology. It was a hard call for her, but after a few hours she produced the note. And I’m keeping it forever. Because it pretty much means that I’m going to the Versailles of nursing homes.
One year ago ...
- Lucky - 2014