Bitter-sweet...

All of you who are mothers know that some memories and moments are so sweet that they are almost painful. The hurt comes from knowing that the moment will soon be gone. These are memories that make tears fill your eyes--make your heart ache to return once more.

My girls all have nice singing voices. Mine is adequate (I can sing on tune--but if I have to sing in front of people my voice shakes so much the song isn't worth much!). In church on Sunday when Bethany was growing up, there came a point when her voice matured, and if she was sitting next to me, our voices together would blend. She would sing the alto part for the first verse, the soprano the 2nd, then switch back to the alto, etc. (I just stick with the melody). While we would sing, each time she would switch to the harmony, I would savor that verse. To me, our music was beautiful.

Mother and daughter

voices entwined.

When she left for college, for several weeks I could not sing a note at church.

If I even tried, tears would start.

And it is embarrassing to cry at church every Sunday.

But time heals us, and after awhile I could sing alone again.

This weekend Bethany came home. When we sat down at church, we did not sit by each other. But as the first hymn began I heard a familiar harmony, wrapping around my voice.

It was my Madi sitting by my side, and it was her voice that blended into mine.

She sang alto the first verse, then switched to soprano for the second.

And then I realized.

During the sacrament I put my arm around her shoulders, and she leaned her head towards me, and I towards her. We rested there together for a moment.

This morning I dropped her off at seminary with her friend. "Have a good day, Madi!" I called out as she hopped out of the car. She rushed towards the church door, chattering to her friend, not looking back. I waved a little as she disappeared.

She starts driver's ed after school.

This is a strange time in my life. It is a time of change, of accepting new experiences, of stretching.

It is a time for letting go, and hoping the empty spaces will fill in.

We had all 4 kids together here on Saturday afternoon for about 2 hours. John, Madi, Taylor and I went skiing to use up our last set of lift passes. When we got home, Bethany and Seth were making us dinner. We sat down together, 6 around our table, and shared fajitas and arroz con leche.

Bethany left to go back down to Utah last night. We closed the front door and watched red tail lights drive away. "It was good to have them all here this weekend," John said as I sunk slowly into his arms.

Taylor stills wants me to tuck her in each night.

But she is also begging me to let her shave her legs.

Everyone says to savor the time you have with your kids while they are young. When you are in the midst of it, it seems as if it will never end. For me, it took the loss of that first voice during church each Sunday to realize that this time of my life was growing short. It is a time of change. A new season.