Time doesn’t fly. Time is measured and monitored and documented and feared. Life is fleeting; life is what flies.
Abraham is at school without me, and the nursemaid in me wants to bring him a smoothie and a cool rag or maybe some fresh socks. Tommy gave junior high a 10 out of 10 on his first day, and the mother in me (much to his chagrin) hugged him huge in Walgreens and clapped her hands in excitement. What an auspucious start to the school year!
I’ve dropped both boys off for Day 2, and I’m in the car alone. I have things to do, but I can’t seem to pull out of the primary school parking lot. And no, it’s not just because of the buses;) I’m trying to catch my breath from life whizzing by so quickly.
Eventually, I will drive home with my heart still aflutter. I will keep checking for a text or a Kankakee School District phone number to pop up. Surely something daunting or crazy or crushing is going to happen, right? I mean, this is so normal.
Normal never felt so unexpected. I would never wish our bumpy road on anyone, but I do wish more people could share in the unexpected joy of life’s basic but swift motions. I can’t express strongly enough what every cancer patient and caregiver wants you to hear: stop complaining, stop ignoring and start appreciating. Anything less is a waste.