As I get older I’m finding myself frequently in “reminiscent mode”. It may have to do with the fact that Time seems to be skipping by so rapidly I can’t capture the present.
This longing for the past may be driven by the fact that my two kids are growing up at a pace that astounds me. I’m surrounded with photos of them on the walls of the room where I write. Each day I look across from where I sit with my laptop and see Dylan at six months old wearing plastic sunglasses and jean coveralls. Then there’s Allessandra at five years old, sitting in a pool of mud in our backyard wearing a once-white shirt, mouth open wide, laughing, as a stream of water from the hose sprays down over her head.
Dylan’s now 17 and Allessandra is 12. Where the HECK did the time go?
I remember lying on the table during my C-section, waiting to hear the wail of my first-born child. Dr. Farney’s voice cut through the operating room. “I think it’s a boy,” he said. And I thought, What do you mean “you think”? Is it a boy or a girl or a chocolate lab? Then the nurse brought the bundled-up baby over so that I could see “it” and there was Dylan. I had just given birth to the first boy in our family in 75 years!
Then four years later my husband and Dylan and I are pulling away from the hospital in Placerville, California, in our 1985 Toyota Corolla with Allessandra in the backseat. Kim and her girlfriend were standing at the curb, crying, waving goodbye as we drove away with the child Kim had just given to us for adoption. Allessandra is the first child to be adopted into our family ever. What a fantastic gift!
So, how is it that I’m writing about this for my Blogging Wednesday, it’s 2011, and my kids are 17 and 12? And I can’t recall every single birthday they celebrated without looking at pictures in the photo albums. There are too many memories to keep track of, but I don’t want to forget any of them. My love for my kids is a conglomeration of those memories, stored forever in my heart, as well as the pages of those albums.
And what happens to those memories when I’m gone? My kids will be the recipients of all my photo albums which they’ll hand down to their wives or husbands or partners or children. And 100 years from now where will my photo albums be? Will they mean anything to anyone in 100 years?
Does time fly by for everyone as they get older? Or is it just me?