As the years go by, it seems that the number of personal or family photos I post gradually dwindles, almost to a trickle. The everyday adventures of the early years of parenting seem at first to burst forth like an open dam. The memory of every dimple and smile , first laugh , first taste , first step , first fall , first penance , first tragedy , first friend, first day of school ... feels so fleeting and precious, I want to hold on to each one for as long as possible. The long days begin to quicken in their momentum, and soft little chubby arms encircling my neck soon extend into long lean muscled limbs resting heavily around my shoulders. I don't have to hold their hand any more when we cross the street. But they hold mine. L ove's pain grows sweeter with each passing hour, day, and year. A fleeting image captured of a moment, pales in comparison to the truth of everything it means. Some things are just too good. " ...I never tell them about our lives. You know why? ...
The clock of life keeps ticking. Quiet announcements from friends and peers appear from time to time about the passing of fathers, mothers, grandparents, uncles, aunts. I note the passing of each member of that generation as it comes. In the wise words of Mufasa, this is simply the circle of life. Earlier this week, I saw a post of one of a very close friend from my youth, sharing the news of her father’s passing. And the emotions hit me like a wave. Tears. Sadness. Of course, the depth of my own feelings was nothing compared to the ocean of grief my dear friend must be going through. To be honest, I was not close to her father and did not know him well. So at first, I puzzled over why the news struck me so deeply. I later surmised that this news hit much closer to home because of the link to my childhood I shared with this friend. I'm aware of life's impermanence, the edges of time we are all bound to, and what it means for my own parents. But moments like this bring the inevi...