Yesterday found me returning my mom's truck to her with my friend Tina following right behind to transport me home. In the minivan with her were her two youngest children, although neither are exactly young anymore. No car seats, diaper bags or bottles; no plaintive pleas of "Mom, I gotta go to the bathroom!" or "Are we there yet?" from the backseat; no sibling arguments with subsequent whines. They were polite teenagers in good moods. This was not unexpected or unusual yet still a delight.
We had lunch with my mom, did a few simple chores for her and then headed home. Along the way conversation was interspersed with stops to photograph sights her youngest daughter found worthy, sights I take for granted because I've travelled that road so frequently. The weather was spectacular.
The Boy and I played an impromptu travel game the first time we drove that route: Count the Churches. Yes, he was young enough then for such distraction to be entertaining. If memory serves, we counted 42 churches representing numerous denominations on that 130 mile stretch of Route 3. Rural Virginia adores religion. Or something like that.
So. My melancholy. It's not a bad thing. I'm just thinking about how things have changed, are changing, will continue to change. Am I longing for things past? No. It's more about accepting children growing up and parents growing old, and, perhaps moreso, feeling an urgency to share things I need to share with people I care about and not
This trip reminded me: we've nothing but time yet not a moment to lose.
I wish I could slow life down.
Just a tad.
Know what I mean?