BROWN BAGS AND SANDWICHESI ran out of brown bags for packing Hannah's lunches and so I had to run to the grocery store to get some supplies. I had a short list and so I was hurrying along the aisles filling my cart with sundry items.
The brown bags were in the bottom shelf as usual and I was suddenly jarred by the thickness of the pack. 100 paper sacks. Then it hit me. It was a surge of emotion that suddenly paralyzed me. 100 paper sacks. 100 lunches. But I only need about 20. I only have about 20 more lunches to make. My chest seemed to explode and I had to catch my breath in order to stop the tears from bursting out of me. In 4 short weeks, I don't ever have to pack a lunch for any child. Ever again. Not in the same way.
I am glad that those early mornings were happy ones. It has been a privilege to serve my children in so many different ways.
I passed by the high school just to breath in the air there. I will never have children in high school again. No more band practice, no orchestra, no jazz band. Saturday will be the last prom I'll ever see with any of my children in it. There will be no friends hanging around my house anymore making noise, playing DDR or laughing. There will be no more shopping for school supplies or finding that perfect outfit for a dance or an event. I looked at the high school one last time and a sinking feeling came over me. I am closing a door. But this time, it's permanent. I will be an empty-nester.
This is all happening too fast. I still remember when I had four children running around. I still remember their smell, their soft skin against my cheek. I still remember when they used to bite me when they were teething and how they made me laugh. I still remember stepping on legos. That was brutal on bare feet. How I wish I can step on one again.
I am beset with a gnawing feeling of fear and sadness. I feel so overwhelmed. All I've been for 26 years is a full-time mother. My work is done and I don't know what to do now. I mean, I know there is much to look forward to but it's just nothing compared to being needed by the ones I love---my flesh, my blood, the finest parts of me. My children.
I slowly place the 100 paper bags in a kitchen drawer. I am tempted to throw it all away leaving only 20 to use in the coming days. I don't want to be reminded of empty days. I just want new ones.
If only I didn't have to buy brown paper bags.
The brown bags were in the bottom shelf as usual and I was suddenly jarred by the thickness of the pack. 100 paper sacks. Then it hit me. It was a surge of emotion that suddenly paralyzed me. 100 paper sacks. 100 lunches. But I only need about 20. I only have about 20 more lunches to make. My chest seemed to explode and I had to catch my breath in order to stop the tears from bursting out of me. In 4 short weeks, I don't ever have to pack a lunch for any child. Ever again. Not in the same way.
I am glad that those early mornings were happy ones. It has been a privilege to serve my children in so many different ways.
I passed by the high school just to breath in the air there. I will never have children in high school again. No more band practice, no orchestra, no jazz band. Saturday will be the last prom I'll ever see with any of my children in it. There will be no friends hanging around my house anymore making noise, playing DDR or laughing. There will be no more shopping for school supplies or finding that perfect outfit for a dance or an event. I looked at the high school one last time and a sinking feeling came over me. I am closing a door. But this time, it's permanent. I will be an empty-nester.
This is all happening too fast. I still remember when I had four children running around. I still remember their smell, their soft skin against my cheek. I still remember when they used to bite me when they were teething and how they made me laugh. I still remember stepping on legos. That was brutal on bare feet. How I wish I can step on one again.
I am beset with a gnawing feeling of fear and sadness. I feel so overwhelmed. All I've been for 26 years is a full-time mother. My work is done and I don't know what to do now. I mean, I know there is much to look forward to but it's just nothing compared to being needed by the ones I love---my flesh, my blood, the finest parts of me. My children.
I slowly place the 100 paper bags in a kitchen drawer. I am tempted to throw it all away leaving only 20 to use in the coming days. I don't want to be reminded of empty days. I just want new ones.
If only I didn't have to buy brown paper bags.
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