I have watched my children grow into these little (and not so little anymore) people, but I have been so close to the phenomenon that I almost didn't see it happen. Like magic, suddenly they are new creatures, wholly formed and beautiful in a new way.
I sometimes wonder what my story is, when it will happen. That dramatic, defining moment that you either get through, or fall through, or check out of. Maybe it's already happened. Maybe it slipped by, letting my heart bleed all over the pages, and it's already behind me. I am certainly changed by the loss of my second set of parents, damaged beyond recognition by the void where they used to live. But I'm not sure that the changes are a bad thing. I hope they've made me slow down, look more closely, appreciate more.
Walking down memory lane, I am filled with the wonder of simple things. Sharing time. Watching spring erupt. Kisses and cuddles. Laughter. Music. Sunrise. Loving words. Hello and goodbye. In the end the complexity of life is stripped away and we are left with these simple things, these lost moments that make up the fabric of mortality. Everything else is just fluff.