How Quickly Days Pass, and How Quickly Children Grow

"The Days are long,

but the years are short."

--Unknown

Copyright © 2018

by Ralph F. Couey

They enter our lives in the most amazing and miraculous way, and in that moment when you first hold them in your arms, you realize that the very context and meaning of your life has irrevocably changed. At first it was all about you.  Your desires, wishes, plans, were all more important than anyone else.  Then you found the love of your life and you learned how to share, how to prioritize their needs above your own.  But the day you held that tiny, fragile human in your arms, you realized that this brand-new human being was going to be in charge of your life.

Your career ceased to be about your own promotion, and became the tool for providing a home and the accoutrements of life for your kids.  Almost everything you want to do for yourself now takes a backseat to them.  You deal with changing diapers, cleaning up vomit, and that sudden red alert in your brain that tells you that they've been quiet for too long.

Going anyplace now involves the logistics of diaper bags, toys, and putting them in and taking them out of car seats.  The stroller now lives permanently in the back of your car because their tiny little legs get tired so quickly, and when nap time comes, they go to sleep, no matter where you are or what you're doing.  You recognize a little secret about the laws of gravity.  When kids are asleep, they gain about 15 pounds.  They don't know patience, so when their little lives go awry, the announce their displeasure not only to you, but to anyone within a half-mile, especially on an airliner.

At some point, they discover that they have a will, and begin to exercise it.  There will be those tough moments when you have to teach, and they have to learn just who is in charge around here.  

But even through all that, there are those other times.  Their first smile.  That joyous little laugh.  Those innumerable little cute things they do and say that are engraved forever on your heart.  There are those trips to the park on those perfect, sunny days when your toddler is introduced for the first time to the swing, or the jungle gym, and you watch with happiness tinged with that ever-present protectiveness.  

Then suddenly, years have passed, and it's the first day of school.  Now you have to send them away, and this still small, fragile child will be out of your sight and away from your protective arms for hours every day.  While you like to think you may enjoy these few hours of freedom (usually spent cleaning up the house after them), you still look anxiously towards the clock that tells you the moment when your little scholar steps carefully off the bus and into your care once again.  Eagerly you ply them with questions, anxious to know what transpired in those hours away, and disappointed by the responses so lacking in the details you are so desperate to know.

The years pass.  They get older, and so do you.  Now your schedule revolves around their activities -- baseball, soccer, gymnastics, hockey, basketball, music, etc.  You go to their games, sitting on the edge of the bleacher seat, totally consumed by what is going on in front of you.  Together you celebrate the wins, and commiserate the losses, the disappointment washed away by pizza and ice cream.  All too soon, you discover that they are becoming ever more independent.  Their circles and yours begin to pull apart.  There will be those painful confrontations sparked by them thinking they're old enough, and you knowing that they're still too young.  And at a certain point, you have to let them make their own decisions, good or bad, and hope that you taught them enough about right and wrong, and that they'll trust you enough to tell you when things go south.

One day you will wake up on the morning of the day when they're leaving.  It may be to college, or the military, or simply moving to another town for a job.  And in that painful moment of parting, you ask yourself, "Where did the years go?"

One day, I sat on a bench in a park on a bright and sunny afternoon.  I watched as the kids clambered all over the playground.  The moms clustered together, and the dads hovered near the equipment, watching with barely-concealed tension as their youngsters did things that seemed life-threatening to Dad, but was simply playtime for the kids.  Here and there, dads and moms walked slowly with young toddlers as they walked unsteadily, their hands securely joined together.  This was one of their first adventures, and I could see the smiles on their faces and the light in their eyes.

I wanted to badly to go to each one of those parents and tell them, with all earnestness, to cherish these moments; to live in this day with their kids because time will pass, and this bright day of play will fade and vanish.  

Being a parent is an adventure.  It is moments of drudgery and work; long days and sleepless nights.  It is also full of times of joy and perfect happiness, times when you are living in their world, rather than them living in yours.  All day every day, you are confronted with the hard reality that you have to teach, and they have to learn, no matter how painful the lesson.  You know that whatever they turn out to be as adults is directly related to how you have raised them as children.  How you treat others is how they will learn how to treat them.  Their ability as parents is the result of them watching you raise them.  

The thing is, whether they are 5 or 50, they're still your kids, and will always be your kids.  You will celebrate their triumphs and share the grief of their losses.  And there will still be those days when they will still come to you for advice, and you realize that you are still relevant; that they still need you.

I would really like to tell these young parents about the adventure that awaits them, and the absolute necessity of treasuring today, every day.  But I doubt they will listen.  After all, they are still young, and the future is spread out before them, laid out to an infinity beyond the horizon.  I know that they won't realize what a precious gift time is until too much of it has passed.  There are, after all, only 940 Saturdays between when they're born and when they finally leave.  Eventually, they will tick past like fence posts on a highway, and all those Saturdays will be gone.

Life is whirlwind.  Sometimes it seems that our existence consists of being flung madly from one vortex to another.  We can get so caught up in the "have-to-dos" and "gotta-be-theres" that crowd our schedules that we can become completely oblivious to the marvelous moments of the "now."  

There is a seasonal aspect to a human life.  There are the youthful springs and summers when our energy is boundless and the possibilities are without limit.  But as we approach the Octobers, Novembers...and Decembers... it is so very important that we reach that point with a heart lifted by a collection of those cherished and treasured memories.

As you navigate the maelstrom of activity that swirls through your days, be watchful for those moments.  When they appear, don't ignore them, don't blow them off, whatever you do, don't let them slip away.  Grab them.  Hold them close.  Cherish them.  And then store them away, ever so carefully, within that magnificent treasure chest we call...The Human Heart.