The thermometer hit about 68 degrees yesterday. It was the third balmy day in the midst of a Northern California winter, one that has seemed far colder and rainier than normal. You would think we'd all be out basking in the sun.
Nearly everyone is.
But not me. I found myself quite melancholy yesterday, dwelling far too much on days of long ago. Part of it, I know, is that warm weather brings to mind springs and summers of days gone by. And I seem to be noticing far more often nowadays that time is marching brutally forward, refusing to stop long enough for me to get my bearings.
My children are no longer young. Oh, sure, they're still kids, but they're not little kids. They're not the portable ones you plunked down in a car seat or a high chair or a disgusting ball pit in a play area. They don't play on PLAYGROUNDS OF DEATH installed by wasteful school districts. They don't draw me unrecognizable pictures or, generally speaking, hideous Sculpey creations.
I went to pick up the family BFF kids yesterday from school. They live in a neighborhood we moved out of when Eldest was 4 and Daughter was nearly 3. I drove by the house we used to live in, the playground they used to play on, the community pool they used to swim in, the mini-market where I used to buy them treats, and the schools they would have eventually attended.
I do believe I would have cried outright if Youngest weren't with me.
The nurturing done when we lived there is no longer needed. The amazing times we all had in that house are locked away in the ever-increasing bank of memories I'll eventually never be able to recall. The sunshine beaming down on me and my previous life managed to make the loss all the more visible, focused, final.
Give me the rain, please. Soon. I won't even complain (much) about how freakin' cold it is. This bright sun is killing me.
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