Bittersweet

Today is my oldest child's 36th birthday. Wherever we've lived, the weather has usually been the same on this date, and the same as I remember it on the day she was born: crisp, sunny, clear blue sky, warm but with a hint that fall is just around the corner.

Fall triggers many emotions and yearnings. I revel in the gorgeous warm days and feel wistful as the sun sets a little earlier each evening. My internal clock is still set to a traditional school year timetable, so I want to start a new project, meaningful and exciting. A mother's heart can't help but reminisce about how quickly the years have passed. It truly doesn't seem like more than three decades since Cosmo and I headed off for the hospital in that big old borrowed Cadillac to embark on the greatest adventure of our lives, without a clue of how unprepared we were to take on the awesome responsibilites that lay ahead for us as parents.

As much as I'd like to think of myself as middle aged, I doubt I'll live to be 112, so it's more likely that I'm in the "autumn of my years," as the song says, and that realization evokes the same urge to slow down the passage of time. Instead of trying to hang on to those passing minutes, I can shift my focus toward my goals of being fully aware of the precious moments and savoring each one; of living purposefully, of being truly grateful in all things, of practicing kindness until it comes naturally.

Then maybe I'd come a step closer to fulfilling all the promises I whispered into the ear of a tiny baby girl on a perfect September day 36 years ago.