Slow Down, My Darling Grandchildren

Before I begin, I feel I must make it clear that I was not one of those moms who waxed on emotionally about how my children’s childhoods were going by too fast. I loved being a mother, but there were times when the days seemed to last forever.  I didn’t grieve the empty nest. When my daughters left for college, I missed them, but I was happy they were busy creating their independent, fulfilling lives. I always believed that for everything, there is a season, and I approached parenting through that lens. Fast forward many years to grandparenting, and I’m singing a completely different tune. I’m begging my darling grandchildren to slow down!

The change of heart emanates from the wildly different roles of parents and grandparents. Being a parent is wonderful most of the time, but, as most will admit, it also comes with challenges and sometimes an overwhelming sense of responsibility. Their very childhood rests in your hands, and if you screw it up, there may be a heavy price to be paid. The grandparents get to have all the fun without the work. We babysit often, and we aren’t without concerns and cares, but the bulk of the work and worries ultimately doesn’t fall on our shoulders. If we’re lucky, we’re free to indulge ourselves in the pure joy of grandchildren.

My grandchildren are eight and five, and although I have loved every stage, this is the moment I’d like to freeze in time. They’re able to do so much on their own, no longer needing help getting a drink or putting on shoes, yet they are still full of the innocent wonder of young children. I love this stage of life we’re in, and I want it to last longer. Since I have no superpower to slow time down, I’ll have to be satisfied with savoring each moment we have.

My grandson’s haircut this week seems to have prompted these feelings of melancholy, or maybe, if it’s possible, premature nostalgia. A haircut transformed my eight-year-old grandson from a curly-top, wild-haired little boy into a child who looks like he’s on the cusp of his teen years. I love the new haircut, yet it makes me long for the young, golden long-haired little boy he once was. As absurd as it sounds, I’m already nostalgic for what I’m experiencing right now. I do know it’s possible to simultaneously miss their younger selves while also eagerly anticipating each new stage. I can’t wait to see who they become, but mixed in with that thought are also darker thoughts about my mortality.

I wasn’t a young mother or grandmother. While some families have new generations every twenty years, our family tends to have babies in our thirties and even forties. I don’t regret waiting until I was emotionally and financially prepared to have a baby, and I’m sure my daughter (who made similar choices) doesn’t either. However, with those choices comes the stark and sad reality that I may not be here to see what careers my grandchildren choose, what kind of people they become, who they choose as life partners, or live long enough to see great-grandchildren.

Maybe what I’m asking for is more complicated and selfish than I thought when I began writing this blog. I do want time to slow down, but perhaps as much as I’m asking for my grandchildren, I may also be asking for my aging self. I want to be here as long as possible. I want to soak it all up and be a part of everything. When my dad was in his 90s and I was in my 40s, I commented on how fast time was going, and he said, “Just wait until you’re in your 90s, it flies by!” Although I’m only in my late 60s, I can already understand what he meant.

The phrase “Life goes by too fast” is a cliché for a reason. If you feel the need to cry, grab some Kleenex, and click the link to Nichole Nordeman’s song, “Slow Down.” I’ll watch it again, think of my darling grandchildren, hope they will always know I’m their biggest fan, and silently implore them to somehow slow down.

It seems just a minute ago that he was a four-year-old with long, golden curls!