The Tricks of Time

Vibrant scenery, a suntanned cast, upbeat music, and a quirky but happy ending – all the things that make for a fun night at the movies.

As the movie nears its conclusion, Donna (Meryl Streep) is thrilled when her daughter Sophie (Amanda Seyfried) asks her mom to help her prepare for her wedding. As Donna helps her daughter wash and style her hair and don her wedding gown, the two sing “Slipping Through My Fingers,” a song about a mom watching her daughter as she grows up, wondering where the time has gone, wishing she could slow it down.

I was a bit teary listening to that song as we watched Mamma Mia again recently.

I’m not a parent. I didn’t share the experience Donna portrayed and sang about on Sophie’s wedding day, though a different connection allows for me to understand the sentiment.

The connection to the sentiment is a recurring thought I’ve been having for a few months now, about my parents.

Suddenly my parents, though the same people I’ve known all of my life – aren’t anymore.

My dad who would spend evenings working in his garage, who could fix almost anything with an engine, and could practically remodel a house still understands how to fix almost anything with an engine, but my nephew, who recently graduated with a degree in an automotive repair field, now does a lot of the manual work with and for his grandpa.

My mom would have loaves of fresh baked bread sitting on the counter when we got home from school, would keep a flawlessly clean house, and could do complex calculations often without calculators. Mom can still bake – everything from bread to the best cinnamon rolls ever, and she still keeps a flawlessly clean house, but doing all of those things the way she likes to do them to be done, like she does when she hosts holiday gatherings, takes a toll on her now.

Though we’ve been separated by about 200 miles since I was in my 20s, I’ve visited my parents and have spent many holidays with them consistently throughout the 20 plus years that have rushed by since I left their home to pursue my life and career when they moved to pursue their long-standing dream of owning a small motel in northern Michigan.

My parents sold the motel several years ago. After renting a house on a peaceful, pine tree lined property not far from the motel, they are now planning on moving to, or near, the city to which my husband and I just moved so that they can be closer to us and to life’s necessities like grocery stores and medical facilities.

How did my parents suddenly become a couple in their late 70s, soon to enter their 80s.

They’ve been grandparents for just over 20 years. It was fun to tease them about it then. They weren’t even quite 60 when my niece, their first granddaughter, was born. They were managing a business, doing all of the work themselves.

They are still certainly capable of making their own decisions and caring for their daily needs at this point in their lives, but several things are more difficult for them, and it has only been recently that I have noticed how much help they do need, especially with the more physical demands of life.

As I thought more about it, and as I became more introspective and honest with myself, I want them to be closer not just because they need our help more now, but also because, in a way, I think I need all of us to be more a part of each others’ lives as I see how quickly time is passing, for each of us.

As I look back at my life, now so much closer to 50 than I am to 40, I feel like it passed so quickly, and it seems like I’ve missed a lot of it.

If you know me, you know I take pictures – of everything. I have for years. I have actual prints, pictures of the family camping trips, the Christmas Eves at Grandma’s house, the birthdays, our graduations, from decades ago. And now I have the digital pictures from some camping trips and Christmases from the last few years.

When I think about the pictures that have yet to be taken, I think of the line in the song, about how she wants to freeze the picture for just a little while, before the moment has passed forever.

I can’t stop time from passing. I can’t even freeze a moment; even with a picture it’s gone before the image appears on the camera.

The cruel trick of time seems to be that moments suddenly become decades. The answer I believe is to be intentional in planning the moments, all-in when living the moments, and grateful while remembering the moments.