I'm Afraid

I''m afraid I am losing them. They seem to be slipping away, like memories I try desperately to hang onto. There are times when I want nothing more, but for them to be away from me, so I can breathe, have space to feel alive like I once did. But then there are these desperate, terrifying moments that tell me they've moved too far to come back. I'm swimming in a dark cold pond, only my face is above the water, I can only hear murmurs, voices I used to recognize are changing.

My husband tells me it's normal, they are just growing up. Inside, I know this is true, but it doesn't take the sting away. I have so little time. It is usually chopped up into small bundles I try to share with everyone, but I always seem to run out. Their baby sister takes so much from them, and they lover her all the same. It used to be just the three of us, and they had me all to themselves. Do they miss me, us? I know they are happy. This is more about me, my fears at what I'm missing, losing, or what I've already lost.

I watch them getting taller, their bodies changing everyday. They are people now, where they used to be kids. They no longer need everything from me, for which I am deliriously happy. But sometimes I want time to slow, to take in the moments I've rushed through.

I want to tell them how proud I am to be their mother, and how hard it has been to be their mother. How to be a mother, you wish away so much, and after it passes you want a do-over, maybe to get it right the next time. I'm just afraid I guess, afraid of what's to come.