She sat beside me...

...as we watched the excited four and five year olds run through the sprinklers. The brightly colored stomp rockets flew high up into the perfect, almost-summer late morning sky.

We’d gotten to know each other a little bit as the year had progressed, the only commonality between us a child and a grand-child in the same pre-school class.

I’d overheard her talking to other young mothers about things I’d experienced a long time ago…potty training their younger children, who has the best prices for Pampers and wipes, new baby bottles on the market that really work well for colic-y babies. I’m sure I had a sentimental smile on my face as I listened to snippets of these conversations.

But now we were sitting quietly together on a red metal bench in the dappled shade of one of the school’s courtyard trees. Her son shouted with joy as a string of bubbles left his bright blue wand, my Grandlittle laughed as a red, white and blue beachball bounced on her shining blonde hair.


Out of the corner of my eye I saw the young mother put her head down. As I turned toward her I saw tears falling onto the smooth skin of her shorts-clad legs. She turned her head away, but after a few moments had passed, she glanced up at me...her tear-filled brown eyes radiating total and complete sorrow.

“Does this get better?” she asked in a quiet, shaky voice. “You’re a grandma. Does it get easier watching how quickly the time goes? How can this be his last day of preschool? How can he be going to kindergarten this fall?”

I didn’t answer her for a moment. I couldn’t. I was trying to swallow back my own tears. Mr. Jenny and I have both been struggling with the fact that our youngest Grand is going to school this fall. Empty nest the second time around feels even more poignant.

I put my hand on the weeping womans arm. I opened my mouth to offer comfort...offer hope that, yes indeed, time will slow down, but I'm a pretty rotten liar and I couldn’t get that false reassurance out.

She spoke again, “Tell me it gets easier. That it hurts less as time goes on.”

I searched my heart further for magic words. I had none. I searched my soul again for solace, but nothing came to me. I could not think of what to say.

Just then her son ran over to her. She dried her eyes and gave my hand a squeeze before she ran off to blow bubbles.

It felt surreal. Children and sprinklers and bubbles are timeless, aren't they? It could have been the blonde heads of my own children shining in the sunlight. It could have been their joyous shouts I hear so very clearly from my memories soundtrack.


My sweet Mo ran over after a bit and broke my musings. Isn’t the distraction of a small child a blessing? The rest of the last day of preschool was filled with popsicles and pretzels, gathering year-end papers, and driving home to the happy babbling of a cheerful child.

But now my house is quiet and I am left with my thoughts.

What advice would I have given that young mother? I still don’t know. I find myself thinking of the lyrics of a Joni Mitchell song that made me cry when my own children were young…

Yesterday a child came out to wonder,
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar,
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder,
And tearful at the falling of a star.
Then the child moved ten times round the seasons,
Skated over ten clear frozen streams,
Words like, when youre older, must appease him,
And promises of someday make his dreams.
And the seasons they go round and round,
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We’re captive on the carousel of time.
We can’t return we can only look behind
From where we came,
And go round and round and round
In the circle game.

Maybe I should have told her, “Make your memories while you can, hold him while you can, hug him while you can and listen, listen, listen with your heart every single moment of his childhood.”

Or maybe I should have just cried with her in the warm, dappled sunlight.

Woman to woman. Mother to mother. Sad heart to sad heart.


And then maybe I should have just told her to hold on tightly to the ride, because it's fast and it's crazy and it's over before you know it…

And the seasons they go round and round,
And the painted ponies go up and down.
We’re captive on the carousel of time.
We can’t return we can only look behind
From where we came,
And go round and round and round
In the circle game.