Being a parent is vulnerable.
For the most part, I feel good about how I’ve done so far as a parent. Sure, I’ve made mistakes and had many moments I’m not proud of.
But overall, I think I have done more good than harm with my children.
And yet…
I have a big capital R Regret.
When my oldest was about 4-5 years old, they went through a phase of asking me every day (from what I recall without fail) to watch the sunset with them.
To stop working, come away from my desk, and sit outside on the deck box next to the travel trailer we were living in at the time and just simply watch the sunset.
I remember doing it many times.
I also remember saying no, or saying just a minute, and missing it.
Tonight, my husband called my youngest and I out saying we had to come see this sunset. My little one ran out eagerly and I headed toward the door, but realized I wanted to invite my oldest to come join in.
They didn’t feel like it.
I tried not to be too sad about it… but it hit a dull ache in my gut.
That mournful recognition that comes all too often as a parent. That there was a last there somewhere. That there is a special and specific flavor of the sweetness of that relationship that’s just… gone.
No funeral. No fanfare.
Just an emptiness that once held something beautiful. Something that you could look forward to and relish.
Watching the sunset tonight I wrapped my arms around the sweet 7 child and tried to lock every color and sensation into memory, knowing that one day taking in the beauty of a sunset together will be a distant memory.
Gretchen Rubin said, “the days are long but the years are short.”
Oh, how painfully short they are.
I don’t have many regrets.
But I wish I would have said Yes to every invitation to watch the sunset together. Those missed moments weigh heavy with the same kind of ache and yearning I experience for lost loved ones.
It’s impossible to cherish every moment, but it’s so easy to miss the moments worth cherishing.
