You Think You Have Time…

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Our oldest just started his senior year and he plans on entering the military right after he graduates, which means we have roughly 9 months before he leaves us for parts unknown.  9 months.  Mildly poetic, I suppose.  Damn, it seems like it was just yesterday when we started all of this having-kids-and-being-parents stuff.  And it felt like time dragged on:  sleepless nights with cranky babies, brain-numbing days with toddlers, moody hormonal arguments with preteens.  It seemed never ending.

 

The thing is, now it’s kind of ending.  And I’m in a perpetual panic, thinking of all the stuff I always meant to teach him, tell him, show him, and never did.  I thought I had more time…that shortening number of days always seemed so abstract, so ‘someday’.  But now ‘someday’ is 276 days (give or take a few).  Less than a year.  That’s not so abstract anymore.  But now that I can comprehend it, I don’t want to.  It’s like if I start thinking about it now, I’ll freak out so I put it off.  But then I freak out because I’m putting it off.  So, basically I’m a mess.  A mess who thought they had more time…

 

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