Janie sat beside me on Sunday watching a baby held over the shoulder of a grandparent on the bench in front of us. Eliza hung on my legs. "Mom," Janie whispered to me, "doesn't it amaze you that Eliza was just that size and how quickly she learned to crawl and walk and become a little girl."
Her whisperings hurt and I squeezed my arm around her shoulders a little bit tighter.
"It amazes me that you were just that same size what seems like ten minutes ago," I whispered back in her ear.
And I spend the rest of the meeting holding back a flood of emotion.
I take pictures with my camera to remember what I can and when I can't, I close my eyes and breathe inwardly, reminding myself to capture this moment and never forget it. I can't count the number of times I've lingered a hug, kissed one more time, soaked in the softness of skin or frozen a moment all the while telling myself, "Don't let this go, it will pass all too quickly."