Time is relativeWednesday, May 06, 2015
"Wanna play schumpin?"
I was in the middle of cleaning the kitchen, and after that I had to do the living room. The upstairs hadn't even been touched.
We were both still in our pajamas. It was almost lunch time.
I didn't have time to play.
I had already wasted half of the morning trying to catch up with the tornado from the night before.
I was tired.
The last thing I wanted to do was play something. Until I looked into her face, expectant and open. She wasn't eager or clinging. She just wanted to play with me.
Parents who have lost children acknowledge that loss profoundly affects how we parent our living children. There is a type of darkness that hovers over your day, affecting your decision making process in relation to your living children.
However, in the aftermath of such a tragedy you can sometimes find an unexpected illumination. The storm clears the sky of all of the clouds, so the sun is finally visible. You begin to see small details which would have been hidden in the shadows.
I see them the small details all around me.
This time it was in the blue of her eyes looking up at me -- waiting, because I am not only her mother, but I am her friend. Right now, I am her best friend.
Am I enough? Will I be able to maintain this trust and want for companionship in the long term?
It's easier to take the time to bend down to the level of your child when you fully comprehend that the time you have with them could be limited.
So I left the kitchen, the living room, and the upstairs.
We crawled on the floor and meowed like kittens for a half an hour.
Not once did I worry about how much time I was wasting time.
When you lose a child, your understanding of the finite amount of time each of us has is clarified.
Time is the only thing that we can give our children that can't be bought. It can't be made up for at a later date. The way it is spent forms their personality and affects the way they pursue their hopes and dreams. Time spent with a child is always time well-spent.
I know too much about how fragile memories are -- how they grow faint over time. I want her to recall very clearly, our time together.
I know too much about how things can change in the blink of an eye -- what we are enjoying this very second could be gone tomorrow. I want her to take for granted the companionship which we share now. Because if there is ever a time that she must say goodbye to me, or I to her, I don't ever want her to be doubtful regarding her place in my heart.
I want to be enough for her, so that she will never question her importance to me.