Today marks three years since I lost my mother, prompting me to reflect on the concept of time—particularly how it seems to slip away unnoticed by many, yet stands out sharply for mothers.
Mothers have a unique awareness of time. It hits hard when we glance at our eighth graders and see legs that have transformed into those of young men. Despite having witnessed these changes numerous times, it still takes our breath away when we truly acknowledge it.
We recognize the passage of time when our tenth graders suddenly adorn sideburns and facial hair, leaving us to wonder when that transformation occurred. Did we miss the signs while we were focused on their deepening voices? As summer wanes and college students begin to gather their belongings for another year, it strikes us again—already? We were just watching them dart around, mirroring our own youthful escapades, and now they’re off again.
Mothers also feel the slow march of time as our eldest children—those who are slowly transitioning into adulthood—forge their own paths, sometimes ignoring our well-intentioned advice. Watching them navigate their mistakes creates an odd sensation of time standing still (insert nervous laughter from parents with young adults).
This past weekend, I joined a large group of friends for a ferry trip to a lovely coastal town. The sun shone brightly as we enjoyed our day, yet I was hit by moments of melancholy, realizing that the last time we shared such an outing was exactly three years ago. That day stands out vividly in my memory as it was the last time I experienced carefree fun before my mother’s battle with cancer took over my life.
In those days, I would call her on weekends to share updates about the children, recounting their games, shopping victories, or escapades with friends. She would always pause her TV show, keenly listening to every detail about her cherished grandchildren. However, during that final ferry trip, when I called her to share the day’s joy, she was too weak to engage in our usual banter. I hung up, tears streaming down my face, acutely aware that I was losing her.
Three years have slipped by, yet my awareness of time still ignites unexpectedly. The dynamics of my family are markedly different now; our household, filled with teenagers and young adults, feels lonelier at times. While it is not an unhappy place—far from it, in fact, as it buzzes with laughter and activity—it’s a challenge to gather everyone for family dinners amidst busy schedules and commitments.
The relentless pace of life often leads to feelings of solitude when I contemplate how fleeting time can be. It teaches me to cherish car rides, conversations, and even those unmarked days on the calendar. I find myself delighting in the small moments, like frying bacon on weekends to rouse sleepy teenagers from their slumbers.
I am resolute in my commitment to always pause and listen whenever I receive a call from a loved one, just as my mother did for me. This dedication to connection and presence honors her memory.
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Summary
In reflecting on the passage of time over three years since the loss of a mother, the author shares personal experiences highlighting how mothers uniquely perceive the fleeting nature of time. Family dynamics shift as children grow, leading to moments of solitude amid busy lives. The piece serves as a reminder to cherish small moments and connections.