A friend lost her brother suddenly on Sunday. He was 28.
Becoming a mother has changed the way I think about everything.
All week I have been looking around - at toys on the living room floor, sand box sand emptied from a shoe in the hallway, pudgy legs dangling past car seats, sippee cups abandoned on kitchen counters - and thinking, I'm not promised anything. The stage my life is in feels like the beginning of something - years stretching forward of battling nap times and birthday parties and reading stories in my lap and trips to the park. It feels as though this time is never going to end.
And maybe my children will grow up and grow old all around us, maybe I really will sit on a porch somewhere, some day, covered in grandchildren, saying, "no" and "stop that."
But maybe I won't.
Maybe the time I have with them now - maybe this is the only time I will ever have with them. Maybe these young years, full of the urgency of the immediate, maybe this is it. I'm not guaranteed anything.
That's what's been on my mind this week.