Today marks three years since I lost my mother, a moment that prompts reflections on the passage of time. While it often goes unnoticed in daily life, mothers have a unique sensitivity to its flow. We recognize time’s passage in unexpected ways.
For instance, when we see our eighth graders sporting hairy legs, it stops us in our tracks. That familiar sight suddenly feels jarring, reminding us of how quickly they’re growing up. Similarly, we notice changes like our tenth graders developing sideburns and facial hair, catching us off guard. It seems to appear overnight, leaving us to wonder when it all began.
As summer days wane, we feel the weight of time as our college students prepare to leave home once again. We cherish those fleeting moments of togetherness before they dive back into their busy lives. Then, as our eldest children begin to carve their own paths in adulthood, we grapple with the realization that they will make mistakes along the way. Watching them navigate this new terrain can feel like time slows down, filled with a mix of pride and anxiety.
Just this past weekend, a group of friends and I took a ferry to Provincetown, relishing a beautiful summer day filled with laughter and sunshine. Yet, amidst the joy, I felt a twinge of sadness. It struck me that the last time we shared such a day was three years ago — the one day of light before the dark days of my mother’s cancer diagnosis.
I used to call her on weekends, sharing stories about my kids, shopping hauls, or simply enjoying a glass of wine while chatting. She would mute her favorite Law and Order episodes to listen intently to my updates. However, that last ferry ride remains etched in my memory. When I called her later that night, she was frail and barely able to converse. It was the first time I realized our cherished chats had come to an end. Just days later, I was with her in New York, not leaving her side until the ordeal concluded weeks later.
Three years have flown by, and still, my heightened awareness of time catches me off guard. My family dynamic has changed significantly; now, I find myself in a bustling household of teenagers and young adults. While it’s filled with energy and laughter, I can’t help but feel a sense of loneliness. With everyone’s busy schedules and commitments, family dinners have become rare, and the house often feels empty.
This realization makes me appreciate simple moments: car rides, conversations, and even quiet calendar pages. I’ve found joy in sneaking bacon into the mornings to rouse sleeping teens. It’s these small moments that remind me of life’s fleeting nature. I am determined that if I ever receive a call from one of my loved ones far away, I’ll turn down the volume on Law & Order and listen intently, just as my mother did for me.
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Summary:
Three years have passed since I lost my mother, prompting reflections on the swift passage of time. As a mother, I’ve become more aware of these fleeting moments, from witnessing my children grow up to the changing dynamics within my family. The bittersweet memories remind me to cherish the small joys in life.