Thursday, June 7, 2012
Perched In A Moment in Time
As moms, we save the precious memories of our children growing
up. We know to preserve those moments in time by storing away the
photos we've amassed over the years (no moment left undocumented)..
certificates earned through school or sports...
drawings that show what interested them at that moment... Oh! the
changes in their development depicted in each one.....
cards handmade for you on Mother's Day or a birthday...
each carefully chosen and placed in a box tucked away under the stairs
or in a corner of the attic. These tangible items produce gentle
smiles, bursts of laughter and yes, even quiet tears, as we gently touch
each one and have a moment in time come back to life.
But sometimes we don't need "things" to trigger a memory.
if we are lucky enough....
if we pay close attention....
an experience can happen right before our eyes where our grown children
dissolve into the child we once knew.
I know... it happened to me!
There I was, once again, hunkered down in a wool coat that shielded me
from the chill in the air due to the sun setting on a spring evening. It
helped take away the discomfort from sitting on a metal bleacher.
Yes, I said metal bleacher! While visiting my middle son, he had a softball
game to go to. He had found a way to blend his passion for sports with
an opportunity to network with other young professionals. They
made it into the semi-finals and this game could not be missed.
"Do you want to come and watch?"
Not that sitting on the sidelines was my favorite thing to do... even as a
young mom... but I was not going to miss this. Not for the world!
There were no crowds. There weren't other mothers to sit next to. No
concession stands. Those times are past. It was just me and one other
guy who was the boyfriend of one of the girls playing. We chatted while
his eyes gazed in the direction of a new love and my eyes fixated on
my son in the outfield. Yup... there was that arm that could rocket the
ball from left field to first base still hitting the baseman's mitt with
spot-on accuracy. I've peeled back a layer of time. When his team
was ready to come in for their turn at bat I saw another layer peel
away. His unique gait was still present. When it was his turn at bat,
that is when the floodgates opened up. No .... that was not a man
of 29 up there positioning the bat just so. That was my child of 11.
And I was that young mom of ..... well, that doesn't matter!! (tee, hee).
His intensity was visible as he waited for just the right pitch. And there
it was! Crack goes the bat as it hits the ball on its sweet spot! I shoot up
off that bleacher shouting, "Run, Michael, Run!!!"" (as if he needed
direction from me!). He rounds first. (I'm now whooping!) He touches
second. (I'm fiercely clapping my hands now, oblivious to the arthritic
finger that usually hurts when I do that). He approaches third as the
outfielder on the opposite team has finally reached the ball and is
ready to throw it. "RUN, Mike.... RUNNNN!" And then he did what he
always did at 11. He headed home with the possibility of getting out.
"Oh, my gosh... OH, MY GOSHHHH!!!!"
"Safe!" says the ump. And I admit tears came to my eyes. Just at they
are now. That child of 11 made it home and now slowly disappeared
being replaced by my grown son of 29.
I was so surprised at how easily.... smoothly ... and effortlessly I slipped
back to old familiar territory. But habits of motherhood die hard, don't
they? And would we have it any other way? I will always feel so
blessed to have had that moment in time. A memory that will not be
placed in a box along with the other items but one that will have its
special place in my heart! Priceless!!!