The Last Walk

Of course I didn’t realize it at the time. Things were too chaotic. In the long chapter titled, “mothering a young child”, time is elusive. Up hours before dawn to get some work done, then a rush to get work done during naptime. Then it’s playtime, dinner time, story time before bedtime, and prized moments of my-time before it begins again.

For a break, we’d taken a weekend to visit my mom—which meant an interminably long drive with a squirming child. 

Mom’s rustic cabin seemed timeless nestled in its wooded acres—and it was a child’s paradise with new things to see and touch. Including a beach with waves, shells, seagulls and miles of shoreline.

It was cold and wet—but that didn’t matter when the beach was waiting to be explored. Soon our pockets were laden with the rock and shell treasures our little girl found. I didn’t stop to wonder if she’d would remember this day. Would I even remember it?

We breathed in the salty air and our laughter rose above the sound of the waves. That was back when we imagined a lifetime stretched ahead.

As I thumbed through photo albums some thirty years later, I saw the precious few pictures we snapped on that day.

Walking on “mom’s beach” this week, I replayed those memories—we all thought we’d have more walks to enjoy. We didn’t.  She only lived a couple years after that cold, blustery one.

Ah, therein lies the truth, none of us know how much time we have. So we tell each other to “make the most of it”.  Each April I wish Mom a happy birthday and wonder where life would have taken her if cancer hadn’t taken her first. 

As I walked along the shore, the waves seemed to shout, “Enjoy Life Now!”  

So take time to laugh with those you love. Take more walks together. 

And take more pictures. Because there will come a time when the laughter and love will only be memories in your heart.