I guess it was about four or five years ago, when I only had two children and Mother was more capable of fixing an entire meal, that we would join them at their house for lunch after church. I'm not sure exactly when it stopped. When was the last time? Clearly, I had no idea at the time that it would be the last time. It was one of those things that we outgrew, so to speak, probably precipitated by me having another baby...and then another baby...and it was just easier for us to eat here in my house where we had baby supplies and a high chair and a crib for when the baby got tired and sippy cups and plenty of plastic plates and...
This makes me think of the children's book by Karen Kingsbury, Let Me Hold You Longer. I don't have that book, partly because it's the kind of book that I can't make it through without crying! But, as I understand it, the premise of the book is that we notice and celebrate the "firsts" of childhood, but how many "lasts" go by unnoticed and unappreciated...
...until one day, you sit down at your computer and you realize that it's been years since your mother cooked Sunday dinner for you and you know in your heart that she'll never do it again. And your heart aches from the memory of it all, and you wish fervently that you could go back in time and appreciate it all a little more. You'd sit at your mother's table a little longer. You'd chew your food more slowly and savor the taste of her wonderful home-cooking. You'd memorize the look and sound and smell of those Sundays in her kitchen. You wouldn't rush up the hill to put the baby in bed for his nap. You would have said "thank you" one more time and given your mother a hug before slipping out the door. You would have made sure she knew how deeply you treasured those times.
If only you had known...
