I think it was Melanie that first told me that a Blogger called NYC Watchdog lost his son in a swimming accident.
I heard about it last Friday and since then I haven’t been able to shake the ordinariness of the circumstances.
There’s something so every day, so regular about a child at the swimming pool in the summer time…
On Saturday afternoon I met my friend Melissa and her kids for a play date at a local land trust.
We sat under a giant elm tree grateful for the shade while our children scooped, dug, and bulldozed in the sand lot.
I told Melissa about NYC Watchdog’s loss and how I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Melissa belongs to a group of women who meet regularly to discuss the ways that faith guides their lives.
[Though I admire their commitment to each other and to the exploration of faith, I have never been invited to attend as I am a heathen from the Church of the Zoo.]
Melissa told me about a time when a woman in her group talked about the pain of a miscarriage.
After listening, another woman in the group said,
“You know, the truth is that any of our children could die at any time. The older they get, the more and more horrific the possibility becomes.”
While I don’t know if the death of a child can ever be any more or less horrific, I was struck most by the words,
“The truth is that any of our children could die at any time.”
At any time.
It made me think of a quote I like despite it being wildly overused,
"Work like you don't need money,
Love like you've never been hurt,
And dance like no one's watching."
I wonder if there’s a version of that sentiment that I could bring to my parenting.
Parent like every moment is your last?
I don’t know.
Tonight The Rooster had trouble falling asleep and then cried about an hour after she had been put down.
K and I are “cry it out” parents. Though we might go in periodically to rub her back, we would normally let her comfort herself back to sleep.
Earlier, just after dinner, Rooster managed to cut her finger somehow. I think the combined sensation of wearing a bandage for the first time and feeling her finger throb were too distracting for her.
I picked her up, got her a sippy cup and rocked her while she had a drink. Then I took her to my bed and snuggled with her until she fell asleep with one of her little feet resting in my hand.
I haven’t held her until she fell asleep since she was six months old.
I was a mother in the moment tonight and, at least for today, I have no regrets.