Snapshots

I’m at my Dad’s house and it’s late. Tomorrow morning (today, really) I will travel with my family to the funeral of my 19-year old cousin and say good-bye to a life that ended far too soon.  Way. too. soon.

I’ve always been acutely aware of the preciousness of time, but things like this spoon-feed me an extra large dose of perspective. 

As I was driving “home” today and anticipating some one-on-one time with my Dad (courtesy of my awesome FIL who stayed with my kids this afternoon) I was reflecting on other one-on-one times with my Dad.  I remembered sitting at a park on a cold, early spring day eating french fries after Lent ended and I broke my “fry fast”.  I saw the two of us sitting at a hole in the wall restaurant with incredible food chatting between bites of greasy food.  I remembered running side by side on Thanksgiving morning.  I remembered driving through a college campus as we visited a prospective college.  I recalled sitting in his car after meeting for dinner during my junior year in college as he invested in my life. . . to name a few.

There are so many moments. Snapshots. Snippets of time that are etched in my heart forever. These snapshots. . . I believe they are the meat of life. 

We don’t remember days. . . we remember moments.  It’s true isn’t it?  At least it is in my life.  I’m so thankful for these snapshots that fill my soul with such goodness and hope. 

And as I reflected on these snapshots, I thought about my own kids.  I thought about how sometimes I freak out because I’m not giving them enough time, experience, patience, love, stuff. . . on and on. 

Today, I am reminded. . . they will remember moments.  We have lots of moments.

Just yesterday Charlie and I played a game of War for one and a half hours.  Actually, it started with three of us, but the littlest among us faded out. . .

Turns out that our little sleeping beauty had a terrible case of strep throat and so I spent the last day and a half with a fevered little girl tucked in the little space between my torso and my arm.  There we sat, hour after hour watching endless episodes of Dora the Explorer and Max and Ruby.  Oh, I won’t soon forget these precious hours of quiet when my normally nonstop preschooler settled in and rested in the comfort of my presence.  And I, too, slowed down to rest with her. 

Snippets of time.

 

What I am realizing is that these “moments” don’t have to be big.  The memories that I hold dearest aren’t the trips to Disney or amusement parks, the surprise parties, or the big presents.  They are the simple little moments when I knew my Mom and Dad were present.  When, in that moment, they were listening, watching, asking, playing.  Those are the moments I remember. 

And I guess that I’m hoping that these will be the most precious to my kids.  The times when they felt the specialness of the moment because I was there with them.  Watching. Asking. Playing.

I think the key is finding a balance.  Striking the balance between doing the duties that call for our attention and taking the time to enjoy a moment that seems simple, but is really everything to these little lives.  Sometimes, the duties can wait. . .

The mess will be there later. . . but the moment. . . that passes oh so quickly.