Month: November 2019
Empty Seats
As Holiday season is about to begin, We know that we'll gather with family and friends. As we gather around for Holiday feasts, There are bound to be some empty seats. For some, it's the first time a loved one's not near, For others, the seats have been empty for years. They say it gets easier with the passage of time, But their journey through loss may be different than mine. So know if a seat sits empty this year, Your heart may feel joy while your eyes brim with tears. I hope that seat at your table that's bare, will serve as a memory and gratitude chair. Sit down with in it and pause for a prayer, Thankful for the love that between you was shared. Time is so fleeting and too soon it has passed, But Holidays are for memories and memories last.
I wonder if you know how much I love you…
Sometimes, at the end of the day, I wonder if you know how much I love you... I wonder because even though I spoke the words, I yelled too much, I was impatient and sometimes unkind. Sometimes, at the end of the day, I wonder if you know how much I love you... I wonder because even though I spoke the words, I wasn't fully present, I was distracted and I didn't really listen. Sometimes, at the end of the day, I wonder if you know how much I love you... I wonder because even though I spoke the words, I barely saw you, I worked late, you stayed in your room and I wasn't with you. Sometimes, at the end of the day, I wonder if you know how much I love you... I wonder because even though I spoke the words, I failed to 'thank you' for all you do, I took you for granted and was ungrateful. So even when I'm impatient, even when I'm distracted, even when I'm not near, even when I'm ungrateful, at the end of the day, I'll sit by your side just a little longer, I'll hug you just a little tighter, I'll lean in close and whisper soft, because at the end of the day, I just want you to know how much I love you.
It isn’t the growing that gets me, it’s the loss of the little
It isn’t the big kid voice, with a growing vocabulary and precise pronunciation. It’s the loss of the squeaky voice and mis-spoken words. It’s not realizing how much you’ll miss talking about “rucks” and “tars”. It’s not realizing how much you’ll miss requests for “hamburbers” and “spabhetti”. It’s not knowing the last time you hear it is the last time you’ll hear it.
It isn’t the growing that gets me, it’s the loss of the little. It’s how growing up happens word by word and all at once.
It isn’t the growing in of molars and permanent teeth. It’s the loss of baby teeth and no more toothless grins, and it’s not knowing it’s the last time they’ll leave a tooth under their pillow until it’s the last time they leave a tooth under their pillow.
It isn’t the growing that gets me, it’s the loss of the little. It’s how growing up happens tooth by tooth and all at once.
It isn’t the growing into new found interests in video games, dance and sports. It’s the loss of the innocence it takes to believe in a talking mouse and a monkey’s mischief, and how you don’t know it’s the last time they’ll ask for Curious George at night, until you realize they’ve stopped asking for Curious George at night.
It isn’t the growing that gets me, it’s the loss of the little. It’s how growing up happens interest by interest and all at once.
It isn’t the fact that they can tie their own shoes or button their own coats, it’s the loss of the little toes and little fingers, and it’s not realizing that you are holding a chubby little toddler hand for that last time until you look down and realize that big kid hands have grown where toddler hands once were.
It isn’t the growing that gets me, it’s the loss of the little. It’s how growing up happens by fingers and toes and all at once.
It isn’t the fact that they can reach the cups and pour their own milk, it’s that they no longer fit on your lap and it’s not realizing it’s the last time you’ll carry them to bed until you realize you can no longer carry them to bed.
It isn’t the growing that gets me, it’s the loss of the little. It’s how growing up happens inch by inch and all at once.
It isn’t the growing that gets me, it’s the loss of the little. It’s how growing up happens day by day and all at once.
Why I linger here.
Some may wonder why I linger here.
Linger at the bus stop, until the taillights fade.
Linger at doors even after my children have passed through.
Although I know they probably won’t look back, they haven’t looked back for months or even years, I remember a time when little noses pressed hard against bus windows and little hands waved from 2nd story classrooms. I remember the times there were tears because they didn’t want to see me go, clinging to my leg and gripping my finger tight.
I know they probably won’t look back, but I linger just in case.
Just in case today is the day they feel a bit insecure,
Just in case today is the day they need that nod of encouragement,
Just in case today is the day they need an extra smile of reassurance,
Just in case today is the day they need to know that I am there.
So I linger, just in case today is the day they look back.
If today is the day they look back, I will be there. I will give them a nod of encouragement and a smile of reassurance.
And sometimes I linger, not for them, but for me.
I linger, because as I watch them, big and bold, I want to remember them little.
I want to remember little noses pressed to bus windows.
I want to remember little hands that once gripped my finger tight and waved from second story classrooms.
And sometimes, as I linger here and watch them go, I have to wipe away the tears, because as much as I love seeing them grow, it’s still hard on mommas letting go.
Mother Runner 