If you could mess with time, would you ever go back and relive one of your yesterdays?
I remember my aunty would say she'd love to revisit a time when her girls were little. To hold them once more just as they were, when they fit in the crook of her arm. It wasn't long after her, that I became a mother and learned all too quickly there's no stopping the clock or the swift passage of time, no matter how firm your hold on your babies.
I remember my aunty would say she'd love to revisit a time when her girls were little. To hold them once more just as they were, when they fit in the crook of her arm. It wasn't long after her, that I became a mother and learned all too quickly there's no stopping the clock or the swift passage of time, no matter how firm your hold on your babies.
I've watched my own children march right up to the milestones of adolescence and charge on by with great delight at what life promises around each bend. They've raced through the years and now I'm left wishing for one more taste of when they nestled against me.
Why such nostalgia? Why the lingering look up at my son as he towers over me and throws his school bag into the car?
Because today is the last time he'll throw his school bag into the car. It's the last time I'll pack him a school lunch and drive him through the morning traffic to school. Past the crossing lady he's named Wendy (she does look like a Wendy) as she waves each car through the intersection. Past the petrol station where he always suggests I stop to fill the tank and perhaps buy him a servo pie at the end of a busy day.
All the way to the school driveway where parents drop their children off in the aptly named, teardrop car park. Yes, teardrop because of its shape... but today... for me... teardrop to match the mood and occasion.
While there's much to navigate during the next few weeks of exams, today was for celebration. For marking a day when the school gate swings for the last time and children prepare to leave the world of bells and school rooms for wherever God draws them next.
And for mothers to blink away the tears and wish they could tinker with the clock, just once. To pinch a moment from time and hold onto the fleeting, whisper of childhood. To touch what we already know, we've let go.
What chapter of your life would you like to hold... just for a moment? Would you dare go back to a yesterday?
(photo source - noperfectdayforbananafish)
