It’s 4 a.m. and the clock is ticking. Every second the hand makes another tick. There it goes again. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Time is going by, the children are getting older, and I think I’m about to hyperventilate.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Anxiety is taking over. But I tell myself, this feeling will pass.
But it doesn’t. It’s gets worse. My eyes are beginning to sting. Salt trails are lining my cheeks.
I have a stabbing, churning pain in my stomach, and it’s not gas.
The first day of school is in two days, and I thought I was prepared. I bought all the supplies, new clothes, and snacks. Organized everybody’s closet, and set earlier bed times. We’ve been reading, working on math and writing. My kids are so ready for school. But I’m not.
I’m not ready for them to leave. For them to grow. It’s all going too fast. My soul is screaming to the heavens, please wait, slow down. Because I know. At 4 a.m. I know that thing that I push to the back of my mind. But at 4 a.m. it can’t hide. The silence won’t mask it.
That menacing, creeping knowledge, that these are the good old days. That these are the days I’ll be reminiscing about when I’m old. The days I’ll miss. The days when my house was always abustle with craziness, food, and love, and when we giggled and yelled in the same breathe.
Please God, please, make the time go slower. Put us on pause, for just awhile. Or better yet, replay. I’m not ready for the summer to end.
|Phoebe and Bella being sisters.|
|Soledad loving Nana.|
|Shelbi medals in Basketball.|
|Me and Pops, just sittin’ back.|