My 18th Mother’s Day

You don’t count them, not these holidays.

We remember almost every birthday, ours and everyone’s who is close to us.

Each of us probably remembers a special Christmas, the 10th or the one that brought a great change of life. My married friends remember their 10th wedding anniversaries. It’s the one whose traditional gift is tin or aluminum, but whose modern gift is diamonds.

We count all those things, But we don’t count parent holidays. Mother’s Days. Father’s Days.

They flash by so quickly.

One minute, our children are toddlers, waddling around from place to place as we delight in the fact that they can move on their own. In the next, they’re climbing into their cars, driving way, while we sit terrified and await their return.

I wish I had counted, had kept up with every construction-paper Mother’s Day card or traced hand on cardboard. I wish I could find every bead necklace and every poem written in block script in every size imaginable. I wish I could remember every solitary flower with broken petals held out in love.

I remember the joy. I remember the tears. I remember every big moment. But I wish I remembered every day.

I wish I remembered more.


But I can do something: I can tell young mothers and fathers to remember every step, every drawing, every worm that their little ones rescue and bring home for lunch.

I can tell them to journal and to take photos, thousands like the ones I do have so they can give that to their children when they are grown and preparing for their own families.

And I can remind them to remind the next generation of young mothers and fathers to count every step, every moment, because…

… they flash by so quickly.

(Hope your Mother’s Day was wonderfully memorable today, and I hope Father’s Day next month offers as much sweet reflection!)

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