I haven’t written in a while. I don’t remember the last time, though I can easily look at the date of my last post. Huh … October 6th was the last one. Gross. That’s bad. I really need to keep up on this.
I was at the grocery store yesterday, where I noticed a guy holding his son with one arm as he was shopping. I’m not going to lie when I say the sight of that almost brought me to tears. I choked up and could feel my eyeballs get moist.
I’m a sensitive creature, I guess. For some reason, when I saw that guy holding his son, it brought back memories of how I did the same thing with my kids. I’d cradle them in my arm and they’d wrap their arms around me while I shopped … or cleaned, or whatever else I’d be multitasking. Such nice memories. But I was suddenly saddened.
What upset me was I spent too long in the moment and thought about it. I suddenly realized that there was a last time that I ever held each of my kids like that. And I can’t remember when it happened. They are 15 and 12 now, and just about my height, so it has been years. And because they are 15 and 12 and just about my height, it is not likely to ever happen again. First of all, it would be weird. Secondly, I’m not sure I have the strength to hoist an almost-full-grown human off my hip with one arm. The sad fact is there was definitely a last time that I ever picked up my kids. Was it an evening at home before bed? Did I carry them in the house from the car after an evening out? Was it in winter or summer? Did it happen in a grocery store? The thing is it happened. There was a last time. It’s hauntingly odd because at the time, I didn’t even know it would be the last.
Maybe it’s not sad. It’s just the way life goes, I guess. It really rings true that you should cherish life’s seemingly simple moments.