Her little hand held mine.
Tight, clenching and unrelenting, as if the stronger she held would be enough to champion the virus she fought.
And so I stayed.
Wrapped in her embrace, time be had, knowing that nothing would take me away from the chance to be her comfort.
I was hers. She was mine. And that was that.
With her chest falling up and down in a rhythm that matched my own, I began the journey to this place, this grasping of something that I now can put into words.
We mamas are time chasers.
Time to go. Time to leave. Time to get up. Time for breakfast. Time for school. Time for bed. Time to study. Time to clean up. Time to throw away.
Time to. Time for. Time to. Time for.
We wrestle and tangle and fuss with it as if we can create more in all the effort.
And yet it passes.
Moving from tiny hands to little ones to those that fill our own and we find ourselves wishing we had more…
To hug. To read. To squish. To play. To sing. To laugh.
To hold each little thing that makes them spectacular in a place that no one else will ever know. To watch them in all their wonder over all the things we didn’t see then but we do now. To know in the depth of our hearts that there will never be enough time.
Writhing, wriggling, struggling to give up the chase so that we may keep the years asked of us.
Knowing that while a day of flowers and cards can be lovely, it can also leave us with hands wide open to the thing we wish we had the most.
To be kind. To be gracious. To forgive. To hold hands. To kiss faces. To say, “I love you.”
To do whatever it takes for us to stop checking the list and start embracing the hope that in every moment, every second, every day we get it wrong, there is grace enough to cover it.
Because the truth is we were never meant to chase time, we are simply keeping it for awhile.
Holding it all in our hearts. Carrying the highs and lows of a little life lived. So that when the time comes…
We have the strength to let go.