Earlier this week, I lamented how quickly my 8 year old is growing up. And yet on that same day, an 8 year-old was killed in the tragedy at the Boston Marathon.
My screensaver pops to life as I fold a massive pile of laundry, revealing photos of my youngest back when he was only two. And I think of my two-year old nephew, whose mom is currently fighting cancer.
Last night, my 6 year-old sneaked into our bedroom to sleep on our couch, when he should have been in his own bed. And as I looked at his peaceful sleeping face and his hair so desperately in need of a trim, my husband continued talking about one of his friends, gesturing to our Little Bear, saying “Did you know his mom died when he was only Bear’s age?”
And it hits me hard.
None of us is guaranteed a certain number of days on this earth.
I like to imagine that maybe someday, Hubs and I will have a cozy little house on the beach where our three grown boys, their wives, and all of their children(and then their children’s children) will come visit us every chance they get. We’ll shoo our boys out on dates with their wives while we watch the older ones run and play in the sand and we’ll rock the babies on our porch, laughing at how hard it all seemed when our own were so young.
But we aren’t promised that sort of idyllic someday. Illnesses, accidents, and tragedies happen. They can happen to anyone.
So all any of us can do is try to focus on right now, on what really matters in this moment. And pray that maybe someday, we’ll get those happy moments we dreamed of.
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