The Years Are Short

The Years Are Short...

I had a dream last night where I showed up for a family party and the 9-year-old Dalton was there. I was enjoying his sweet, silly 9-year-old self for a long while before I realized something about this wasn't right. I began questioning what it could be. "We both know Dalton is 31, right?" I asked Doug. "Yes," he said, and we both turned and looked at Dalton across the room. "But look. He's 9." I went and asked my dad the same thing. Same response. Until one of us spoke it aloud, none of us had realized this could not be real. In my dream I busted into tears and ran and hugged Dalton so tight, refusing to let him go. Eventually, he started making funny faces and doing silly things, trying to make me laugh instead of cry... like he always did when he was little. And I remembered those faces and silly antics and they were so real, so just like him... My heart was breaking because I knew, now that I had identified it, this was the last time I would get to hug this 9-year-old, that I was going to have to let him go. Again. And I Just. Couldn't. Do. It. It was then that I woke up. And my momma's heart was hurting and the tears flowed like this was a fresh loss. 

I imagine this dream was triggered by all the back to school posts I have seen over the past week, especially the ones who are leaving home for the first time, heading off to college or just moving out on their own. That bittersweet time of loss and joy, of losing the child but gaining the adult, the sadness of feeling you're no longer (as) needed and the joy and pride of a job well done in raising a functioning adult... 

Much like my relationship with running, my relationship with time is also a love/hate dynamic. Sure, the passing of time has given me some great things - an education and career, a child, nieces and nephews, Doug, a grand baby...a lifetime of experiences full of wonderful memories. But it has also taken things - my curly-headed little blonde boy, my 9-year-old, my high-schooler, my new driver (and, unfortunately, more to come)... I remember thinking at each stage he went through that this new one was my favorite, only to be outdone by the next. It was my joy and honor to be his mom. 

I learned along the way what my own mom went through. And still does. A new found empathy for her mix of pain and joy, and new appreciation for the ways my spreading my wings inevitably broke her heart at the same time it swelled it with joy and pride. I miss Dalton. Little Dalton, big Dalton, and each Dalton in between. I love the man he's become, while mourning the child he no longer is. Despite making a concerted effort every night before turning off my light to reflect on and appreciate the day I had with him, time still flew by. Despite always trying to remind myself on hard days to have a heart full of gratitude for the fleeting time I have with him, it still flew by. Despite fighting the flood of sadness that would wash over me when thinking how quickly time was passing, by reminding myself that at least I still have him NOW, it still flew by. The days are long but the years are short... 

I sent Dalton a text this morning after waking up with a sad, hurting momma's heart. And you know what he did? He sent back something funny to make me laugh instead of cry. Despite the years that have passed, he's still my sweet curly-headed, tender-hearted 9-year-old making his momma smile. And somehow, even though time is still a thief and that hug was only in a dream, everything was okay again.