David told me to be sure to take "before" and "after" shots.
As you wish.
I'm still reeling.
(Which tends to make me melodramatic.)
David and I stared at each other over dinner, half-bemused at our children trying to navigate new ways for food to move around their mouths and half-confounded that so much life has apparently come and gone.
Across the table David asked me quietly, "When did we get so old?"
I looked at him, at the gray hair at his temples, at the creases across his brow, at this man who was just barely one when I became his wife, and the years we've shared together stretched between us. A brief moment and an eternity at once. I just shook my head.
Today I went to the temple. I needed back-up. Reinforcement and buttressing. And a reminder about the promises of forever. When time feels scarce, views of eternity are required. While I was there being tended to by a lovely white-haired angel who told me several times how beautiful I am, she asked me if I was a member of a student ward. She could hardly imagine the truth.
And neither can I.
"I was yesterday," I wanted to say, "Today I am taking three of my four children to the orthodontist. I can't even think about tomorrow." Time is a bully.
So I find myself staring at my children. I am at a loss to do much else, the gorgeous creatures.
And brace myself to be undone by beauty, by brevity, by becoming.
I've shared Mr. Hershon's poem before, and now after, I will share it again. It is only getting truer.
Sentimental Moment or Why Did the Baguette Cross the Road?
by Robert Hershon
Don't fill up on bread
I say absent-mindedly
The servings here are huge
My son, whose hair may be
receding a bit, says
Did you really just
say that to me?
What he doesn't know
is that when we're walking
together, when we get
to the curb
I sometimes start to reach
for his hand