This Time and This Place

“You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place, I told him, like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.” -Azar Nafisi

I’ve seen this beautiful quote pop up several times over the past few weeks.  As seniors graduate from high school or college and move on to the next big thing, these words are often accompanied by a picture of what was and questions about what will be.  The first time I read these words, my breath caught in my chest and I had to swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

That’s what happens when you hear truth.  You feel it, you taste it, you know you’ve lived it, you know you’re living it.

Suddenly, I’m transported back to my senior year in high school.  It’s 5 a.m. on a Wednesday morning and darkness surrounds me and some of my closest friends.  We are breathless and the sound of our feet pounding on a cinder track keeps a constant beat that is only momentarily interrupted by the sound of our enthusiastic coach pushing us, encouraging us, spurring us forward.  My mind flashes to late night joy rides in my white Ford Probe.  Windows are rolled down and our hair dances in the wind while Alanis Morissette’s Ironic screams from the radio speakers followed by Celine Dion’s Because You Loved Me.  I remember bonfires on a chilly fall nights and spring evenings filled with carefree laughter.  I remember those days when we ran and laughed and celebrated and lived today like it was the only day that would ever exist.

Life will never look that way again.  I’ll never be that person again.

My mind wanders to college.  I see a dozen girls stuffed onto a small dorm room floor talking about everything and nothing at all.  Laughter echos through the hallway as Twizzlers are passed  around and washed down with Diet Pepsi.  I remember walking across campus hoping to catch a glimpse of the cute tall boy in the gray fleece sweatshirt (Chad) and then trying to play it cool when our paths actually crossed.  I remember laying in the top bunk of my dorm room bed and chatting with my roommate where light-hearted conversations turn into deep life questions in a moment.  I remember naively thinking that between classes, papers and exams, nothing will ever be this stressful again. Oh, so naive.

Life will never look that way again.  I’ll never be that person again.

My mind sorts through memories and finds myself looking down at the unmistakable “+” sign that felt like a dream come true.  I remember the anticipation that grew at the same pace as my belly as we waited to experience our hearts living outside of our chests.  Conversations of what will life look like and concerns about can we do this?  I remember a hospital room that filled with more love than I ever knew possible when a tiny baby was placed on my chest and locked eyes with mine and for the very first time I was Mama.

Life will never look that way again.  I will never be that person again.

Just yesterday I took a walk with Meadow.  We walked side by side as she paused every three steps to pick a flower or stick her hand in a puddle.  She stopped to take in the view of the horses and cows in the field across the road and made “nah-ing” and “moo-ing” sounds in an attempt to communicate with the creatures.  As our walk resumed she babbled with conversations switching between tigers and butterflies and numbers.  While we walked she unconsciously reached her tiny  hand up and placed it inside my hand.  I felt the smallness of her hand tucked snugly into my own and wondered to myself how many more times this will happen.  How many more times will she reach up and grab my hand simply because?

Life will never look like this again.  I will never be this person again.

The older I get, the more I understand that life is this delicate balance of holding on and letting go.  It’s celebrating what is today, knowing that tomorrow will look so very different.

I won’t ever meet my teammates at the track at 5 a.m. to prepare for a big meet again, but my feet will pound the pavement in solitude while I take in the suns rays stretching across the earth in the early morning hours.  I will never walk across a college campus in my pajamas flanked by my girlfriends on either side (yes we did that) with laughter echoing through the air again, but our paths will cross in new and different ways when we put forth the effort to make it happen.  I will never feel the movement of a little life wriggling in my belly again, but I get to watch those lives unfold right before my very eyes.  And one day, my little ones won’t even think to reach their hands into mine on a walk, but someday perhaps we will be connected by the hands of their son or daughter reaching their hands into ours.