When John was a little boy, his energy was boundless. Once his eyes opened in the morning, they were open until the last little bit of energy had been exercised from his body. I think he came into the world that way. For certain, he came into our lives that way.
As the mother of a two-year old, and pregnant for the first time at 37, I found his energy daunting. I couldn’t imagine how we would survive each day. Days when I went to work were my respite, though I missed that little boy every minute we spent apart.
This past weekend, John moved out. This evening, as i sit here on our deck overlooking this beautiful yard, I remember the days when our children, often lead by our oldest, would drag us out to play after dinner. Swings, endless baseball pitches (until my arm ached), basketball games, lacrosse catch (a very brief period), football. Those evenings were full and exhausting and, often, the very last thing we wanted to do was run around the yard. But we did, Steve and I and those little kids.
It went so fast. Those days. Those evenings. Those years. No one pleads anymore for just five more minutes, one more game of P.I.G. Summer nights are calm, peaceful, filled sometimes with laughter and sometimes with games, but often I am left with my thoughts, my memories and the joyful appreciation for the time when our lives revolved not around ourselves, not around our work, but around the energy and lives of our three little gifts.