Such a strange pairing- an active toddler and a grieving mother. The juxtaposition of the sense of time for each is also interesting. A friend wrote me the other day that when you stay at home with a toddler, the days are long, but the years are short. This is true. And in grief- I think it's somewhat similar- each single day is like the span of my life. The days are tiny lives I must live.
But the months have passed me by unnoticed. I got stuck in July.
How is it that both of these can be true at the same time- long days and short years...perhaps it is because they are both- the mothering and the grieving- so consuming every moment.
Audrey's development accentuates the passage of time for me because it is so rapid right now. But I was realizing today- that I'm thankful that even though it's so rapid- it has been subtle. I imagine you all the time coming home today and being in awe of the way Audrey is speaking now. She was only saying a few multi-syllabic words when you left. "I think her language is going to explode. Don't be surprised if she's speaking in sentences when you get back," I'd said before you left. Now she repeats anything I say. I know you'd be amazed. But because I've been with her every day - hearing her add a new word here- or start to slowly repeat everything I say- it's dramatic, but not shocking for me. That is how a child grows up right before your eyes. You look at videos you took six months ago- a small span of time in your life - and say to yourself, "Was she really like that?"
Perhaps because of these long days- these tiny lives- the photos I have around of you and our family already look aged to me- I already feel I'm looking at albums and photos from many years ago.