Not to be a downer, but, lately I’ve been reminding myself that none of this lasts forever. This minute, this day, this phase. It doesn’t last forever. It can’t.
If you can’t tell, that idea…that truth, has me spiraling a bit. On one hand, “this doesn’t last forever” is a GREAT mantra to repeat over and over, especially on those challenging days. But on the good days? It’s a punch to the gut. An arrow through the heart. A RUDE reminder that can suck the air right out of a room.
The other day, as I was cleaning up my bathroom for the 20th time, I ripped a toy Godzilla out of my bathtub with a little more attitude than was probably necessary. As I went to put it away, I just stared at it in all its ugly, plastic glory. This little monster is one of my kids’ favorite characters to help create chaos in the great North Sea, otherwise known as my tub. And then, it hit me. This ugly bastard won’t always be hanging around these parts. And instead of relief, I felt…homesick. Because one of these days, sooner than I’d like to imagine, he’ll be put away for the last time.
I know I’ll miss the messes. I’ll even miss the sounds, the fights, the clutter. I’ll miss Godzilla in the bathtub. So, I left that ugly little fella right there…armed and ready for another battle that only little minds can think up.
Deep down, I know that, God willing, the days ahead are just as bright as the memories that have been made. If this all lasted forever, how could we experience the gift of watching our children grow and love and learn? How could we experience the gift of watching ourselves grow and love and learn? It doesn’t work like that.
So, while I wish this could all last forever…I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m glad this doesn’t last forever.
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(…and now for a poorly structured poem)
Godzilla in the Bathtub
What do you mean there won’t always be a Godzilla in the bathtub?
And what do you mean there won’t always be a little doll in my bed?
And how is it possible that one day soon, those books right here will be the last books that will need to be read?
What do you mean this doesn’t last forever?
That they’ll grow up and leave the nest?
How can it be that they’ll move through this world without my hand in theirs, and make big decisions and I’ll just be left to hope for the best?
What do you mean that this is the whole point?
That they’ll take lessons we’ve taught, the arguments we’ve had, the hurdles we’ve cleared and….go?
What do you mean it’s selfish to make this all about me…surely there’s some room, a tiny bit…for some woe?
What do you mean it gets better than this?
That being under one roof for now is just a glimpse of how good it will be?
And the days ahead are filled with the type of stuff that’ll have me saying “pinch me?”
And how is it so, that seeing their faces change, as much as it hurts, will be proof – on a platter – that this is how love works?
What do you mean there won’t always be Godzilla in the bathtub?
That he’ll take a break, but someday he’ll be back. Aged, but happy, just like me to hear the laughter and feel the splash.
What do you mean this is only for a bit?
Actually, there’s no time for questions, just time, fleeting time, to make the most of it.
It's Mackenzie Eddie 