Grace has to keep a weather log this week, which had us running outside in pajamas and bare feet at 7:30 this evening to sketch the moon. Though she is 7, she still wanted someone to come with her. It was, after all, dark. I liked this bit of vulnerability after an afternoon of feeling like I had already lost her to the teenage years. She slammed a door, teased her sister mercilessly, and then told me that she has a boyfriend, Timothy (though he, apparently, doesn't know that he's her boyfriend).
When Grace was 3, she woke up in the middle of the night barely able to
breathe and came stumbling into our bedroom. I will never forget it. As I carried her out to the car to rush her to the emergency room, she looked up at the enormous moon that summer evening and, gasping with each word, said, "Look ... at ... the ...moon. ..It's ...so...beautiful."
Tonight, standing on the cool grass with eyes turned upward, I could almost touch the thread of time connecting us to all those past moon-lit nights--with Grace, before Grace, before me, even--and all those future moon-lit nights before us. May we all have a chance this week to stop for a moment and look up, if only to record that we are here. We are here.