Bittersweet

I sat at my friend's house and we both laughed, listening to the sound of her daughter playing in her room, her sing-song voice telling a story that only she could understand...

...and as I drove home I saw three children running with all their might, their mouths wide open in laughter, going who knows where.

Remember what it felt like to be young, to be filled with energy and excitement?

Remember how long you would play, and that Mom had to tell you over and over that it was time to get out of the pool?

And how far would you walk to get to the river, or how long would you ride your bike or hike or climb or build?

I cried some tears last night, thinking of Dad. His 74th birthday would have been next week, and what a youthful 74 he would have been.

When Mom died, I determined in my mind that it would be I who cared for Dad in his old age. Then he married again, and it took me a good number of years to accept without pain the truth that, being a good bit younger than him, his new wife would take on that role - she would care for him.

Turns out - neither of us got to do that. Dad left too quickly - but that's how he would have wanted it. No fussing, no lingering. Come on! Let's move on to the next great thing!

So I see these kids - hear their voices, watch them at play - and it is bittersweet. Time passes with harsh tugs on our hearts, our energies are poured into new things, we leave childhood behind.

And my youth is now behind me, middle age clearly in front of me. For some, I know the burden of caring for their parents is a heavy one. And understandably so.

For me, today at least, I mourn the loss of that yoke.

Another sign of the passing of time.