Graduation day: slow down, because time won’t.
Dear Izzy, Max, and Kate,
I forgot to set the alarm on my phone last night. It normally startles me awake each morning at 5:00am.
I woke up on my own at 5:04 in a panic. I sat up and looked to the clock on mommy’s side of the bed.
My usual morning routine followed; shower, dress, fix the coffee, prepare my oatmeal and greek yogurt, read a devotional and suggested scripture, pray/meditate for a moment on the words and their meaning.
I was 4 minutes behind schedule, so I felt rushed – as odd as that sounds. I went to accomplish the rest of my routine in the still dark rooms of our home, darkened further by the clouds and rain of the wet spring day ahead.
In your room Max and Kate, I went to kiss each of you on the forehead and whisper in your ear as I do each morning before leaving. But I stopped. And turned around in your doorway as I used to do so often – and watched you breathe for a moment. I wondered when I stopped doing that everything morning. When my gratitude for your health became ordinary. I used to sit beside your beds and just watch you. Until a smile welled up from some place deep inside. The sort of smile you can’t stop, and ultimately because a grateful gentle, quiet, laugh. I took in the silence of our home, except the faint sounds of your gentle breaths. And I smiled.
I did the same in your room this morning, Izzy, forgetting my “rush”. Your feet hang off the end of your twin size bed now. The doctor told us recently that you’ll be the tallest in our family – a towering 5’7 or 5’9.
You two graduated from pre-school (mother’s day out) today, Max and Kate. Something caught me in my rush this morning and gently reminded me to slow down, because time won’t. It feels like yesterday that I went to your pre-K graduation Izzy. Really. I still remember the outfit you wore, the way you titled your head and smiled in your cap and gown. The picture we took in front of the house, posing in front of the blooming rose bushes while mommy, still sick from complications of bringing Max and Kate into the world, watched from the window.
Today Max and Kate you graduated and are ready for Kindergarten this fall.
I kissed each of you again this morning before leaving for work, breathed deeply in the stillness of each brief moment and wished I could slow it all down. I wished I wasn’t aware of being 4 minutes behind my daily routine. I wished I could hold onto stillness and peace and everything that makes my life beautiful. Predictably I cried a little at the graduation when they put your pictures on the screen. Yesterday you were born in the cold sterile white of a operating room and we wondered how sick you might be, or how long you might live. And today you graduated pre-school. Full of life. Too wiggly to stand still. Perfect. And with a perfect big sister.
And a mommy who gave so much and still does. And a daddy who can’t help but cry at big events. As often as I wish to get ahead and speed it all up, I only wish it would slow down sometimes.
I love you,
Sat: Rode 2:20
Sun: none (mothers day)
Mon: Ran 40 minutes
Tues: Biked 1:08