I Miss Them Little

"The days are long but the years are short."

That is my favorite adage.  To be fair, it's the only adage I know, but even if I knew more, I'd still say this one is my favorite. It sums up parenthood beautifully.  

I remember when I was in 6th grade, I told the Mom who was driving carpool that the school year flew by.  She told me the older you get the faster time passes.  I didn't understand that back then, but I do now.

Last week M found a DVD from when she was 5 and B was 7.  She called for B to come and they watched it.  Then she came downstairs and said, "Mommy! You have to come see this!!" I told her I'd be up later and she took my arm and said, "No! You need to come now!" She practically dragged me upstairs and told me to sit down.  I plopped down into the bean bag chair and watched.  I must have had a dreamy or teary or something look on my face because M said, "I know what you're thinking! You want another one! You miss having babies!" I looked at her and said "Actually, what I'm thinking is how much I miss you being little.  All 3 of you. . . It's just going by so fast." I got up (with help from B and M since I was sitting in a bean bag chair and have aged too), went back downstairs and contemplated how much I miss having them little.

That night, we went to a Halloween event at an amusement park and one of the exhibits was through the Barney area of the park. We have annual passes and go to this park all the time, but I've never been in the Barney section.  As we were walking through, B and M were making fun of Barney.  I said to them, "You make fun of him now, but you loved him when you were little!" All I could think was how much I miss them being little.

Don't get me wrong. I am loving watching them blossom into young ladies.  Watching them grow has been an absolute pleasure for me.  They have come into their own and more and more are showing who they will be when they are fully grown.  I really like what I'm seeing, but oh, I miss them little. 

I miss all of the things I tried so hard to not take for granted.  I miss walking and having them still grab my hand (L still does this). I miss their teeny tiny voices, lisps, and speech impediments. I miss knowing that I still have more time with them at home.

Last night B's high school held a college night for all grade levels.  B is in 10th grade, and we went because this time next year she will be in the process of applying to colleges.  As I was listening to the guidance counselor talk about scholarships, the SAT, ACT, and essays I kept sneaking glances at B.  When she was in elementary school her teachers always said whenever they were teaching something, she would get this intent look on her face and almost zone in on them.  You could just tell she was soaking up everything they said like a sponge. She had that same look last night.  At one point, I thought to myself, "Holy cow. . . 10 years ago she was in Kindergarten! 10 years ago we were at home and she was reading to me from her poetry book. 10 years ago I never thought that in 10 years we'd be sitting in a high school auditorium listening to a guidance counselor tell us about the college application process."

Time is going by too fast! I've thought that for the last several of B's birthdays.  She's going to be 16 this year. Time is really going to by too fast.  For the first time, though, I'm really hit with the fact that in 3 years from now she's going to be in a college dorm.  She won't be at home anymore.  She's still here and yet I miss her already.

A few years ago I was upset because B never put away her things and I was constantly tripping over shoes, her book bag, jackets, and books.  I yelled.  Later, The Doctor said to me, "You yell now, but when she's in college you are going to miss this."  I told him I would miss her, I wouldn't miss the mess.  She still leaves her shoes, back pack, jacket, and now trumpet, lying around and I do step over them routinely.  I don't yell anymore, though.  I still maintain I will not miss the mess when she is in college, but I also know I will be pleased to see it again when she comes home for breaks.  Seeing it now reminds me that she is still here.

I am loving watching my trio of girlies grow, but I still miss them when they were little.  I used to dance M to her room to tuck her into bed.  Now she goes to bed later than me.  I know she misses me tucking her in and I desperately miss tucking her in too.  When did I stop?  (Actually, I know when I stopped.  It was the beginning of this school year when she started going to be later than me.) 

When S was younger, I used to pick her up, even when she was clearly too big, just so I could say the last time I picked her up wasn't the last time; until it was.  She is definitely too big now and I distinctly remember the last time I held her because when I picked her up I could barely stand up straight. 

I love the fact that we have evolved from conversations that were more one sided on my part to actual conversations where we talk about everything and I love how we are able to joke with each other now that they're older.  I love that they can help out more around the house (they usually don't without a fair amount of nagging, but they can!) and I love seeing them for the individuals they are, and not just an extension of me.

I really loved when they were little, but you know what?  I'm really loving them big too.  I need to start focusing on what we have now.  The last thing I want is to send B off to college feeling like high school flew by and I missed it all because I was so busy preparing myself for how I would feel when I sent her off to college. 

Grief Is Like Glitter

Flashback:

September 10, 2008 we experienced what we now affectionately call "The Great Glitter Explosion of 2008".  B, who was 4, convinced M, who was 2, that glitter was fairy dust.  I walked into the family room to get the girls for dinner and found that M had sprinkled "fairy dust" everywhere.  I mean everywhere.  It was on the cats, the couches, the play table and chairs, the rocking lamb, the floor, and all over M and B.  I freaked out.  Trying to get glitter off the floor is no easy feat (you'd think a lint roller would work, but you'd be sorely mistaken). We were finding sparkles everywhere for months after, but I was confident we'd gotten it all.  Over a year later, we moved out and as the movers were moving the furniture out of that room, we found more.  It was nightmare I can laugh at now, but at the time the only sound I was making was sobbing.

Present Day:

A few weeks ago, a friend posted a meme on Facebook.  "Grief is like glitter. You can throw a handful of glitter into the air, but when you try to clean it up, you'll never get it all. Even long after the event, you will still find glitter tucked into corners, it will always be there- somewhere."  If that doesn't describe grief, I don't know what does.

I've been thinking a lot about this lately.  It's been 27 years since Ashley died.  I was talking to my little sister about Ashley a few weeks ago (she was born after Ashley died so she only knows her through pictures and other people's memories) and I was overcome by grief in a way I haven't felt in a long time.  I was telling her about the time I first realized that even though I was older, Ashley was actually the older sister.  She always was an old soul and I used to go to her for advice on pretty much everything.  Normally, I love talking about Ashley.  Talking about her keeps her alive, but this year it's just been hard, harder than in the past and I don't know why that is.

Today is especially hard because it's Ashley's birthday.  She would have been 38.  She should have been going out tonight to celebrate with her family and I should have called her this morning to sing her Happy Birthday. I should have spent the last couple of weeks looking for the perfect gift and we should have been planning our families summer vacation.  Some people (my Dad mainly) would say, "You can't live in the past and you can't wonder what could have or should have been" but sometimes you have to.  At least I do.  It doesn't feel right to just accept that this is what it is.  And as I reread that last sentence I realize how utterly ridiculous that sounds.  This is life.  These are the cards my family got dealt.  We can't exchange them and we can't go through the deck looking for different ones.

The brother of one of M's best friends died about a month ago.  When it happened, his Mom called me and said, "I know this is an awful reason to think of someone, but you're who I thought of to help J get through this."  I've been texting J once a week and every week she says the same thing, "I thought it would be better by now."  It takes a long time before it's better and even when it is better sometimes you slide back and it's worse again. The last many years I've been managing not having Ashley here just fine, but this year. . . I don't know.  It's been tough.

I honestly thought I had picked up all the pieces of my grief years ago.  I would think of and talk about Ashley and it was fine. I was fine. I moved some furniture around in my head, though, and found a whole pile of it I wasn't expecting.  I not only mourn the 10 year old who died, but I am also mourning the high school, college, and law school graduations we missed and I'm mourning the sisterly phone calls I don't get to have.

Epiphany (this is why I like blogging- suddenly my thoughts all make sense): I'm getting older but Ashley is forever 10.  I don't mind getting older but it feels the older I get, the more I move on, the further away I'm moving from her. I went on to do everything we both wanted (well, except for law school.  That was all Ashley) and she didn't.  She's been with me for every big life event I had, even if she hasn't been there physically.  Sometimes I just get tired of her only being here in my thoughts, but that's better than nothing, so I guess it's time to accept that again.