The Fish Pond: One More Day

I think if you ask most people who have suffered the trauma of losing a loved one much too early, they'd tell you that there are few things they wouldn't give up to have that person back, even if just for one more day. One more day to ask the unasked questions, to express our love, our regrets, one more day to make our apologies for being asses. One more chance to right wrongs we have committed, one more day to experience.

That's an awful lot of pressure on one day.

Losing my mom when I was 15 was one of the most profound experiences of my life. It shaped most of who I am today, of how I choose to live my life. And I always said I'd give almost anything to have her back for one more day. To ask her about my childhood. To let her see her grandchildren. To apologize for being a jerk on the day she died, for telling her I hated her. To let me take her picture a hundred times (she was profoundly camera shy), so my kids would have some way to know her, so that I would never forget what she looked like.

I have now spent one more day on this earth than my mother did.

One more day of life. Of getting thrown up on. Of getting talked back to. One more day of tantrums and messes and shouts of "I don't WANT to wear clothes today, I WANT TO WEAR my PAJAMAS!" and "WHY can't I stay home by myself???!? I'm EIGHT, YOU KNOW!" Oh, how well I know, my dear. One more day of timeouts and confiscation of property and tears and slammed doors. One more day of hurt feelings and broken hearts.

One more day of telling off credit card companies, and shopping for groceries, and trying to qualify for a bridge loan to get into the bigger house we desperately need. One more day of paying bills and doing dishes and laundry and wiping down counters and cooking dinner. One more day of picking up clothes and toys and trash. One more day of driving kids home from preschool.

But also one more day of rubber stamping, of making valentine cards by hand. One more day of sharing the pride of being the leader at school. One more day helping a three-year-old pour her heart into the valentine she's making for her Daddy. One more day of excitement over something new learned at school. One more lost tooth. One more night of forgetting to be the tooth fairy, and feeling guilty and leaving too much money for one tooth in the morning. One more day of giggled peek-a-boo, of a mischievous little boy who climbs chairs with delight and then cries in fear when he can't get down. One more day of cuddles and nummies. One more day of the song "Here's a heart and here's some glue, here's the letters I Love You, Can you guess what we will do, Hold it and give it to [Mommy]" complete with hand motions. One more day with my beloved husband, of sharing his stress and trials at work, his nervousness over meetings. One more day of his kisses, one more night in his arms.

One more day would never, ever be enough.

And yet, somehow it is. One more day, so very full indeed.