“We inhabit ourselves without valuing ourselves, unable to see that here, now, this very moment is sacred; but once it’s gone — its value is incontestable.”

– Joyce Carol Oates

My Dad has been having vivid dreams lately.  Maybe they are memories.  They seem so real that he swears he is lying awake at night rather than sleeping; and in these times he remembers past events in his life in minute detail.  He wonders why he remembers all the small things that seemed unimportant at the time they happened.  He marvels at his recall for the insignificant; but at the same time, he basks in the warmth of remembering times long past.  Compared to his life in an assisted living facility — a very nice assisted living facility — those certainly were the good old days.

How often do we find ourselves looking back and reminiscing and longing for the days that were humdrum and the same at the time but now make us long for the days that have gone by?  I watch the videos of my children when they were small.  I see myself, more vital and less gray, and think of how wonderful it would be to have that physical strength now and not have to think about aching knees and orthotics.  How nice it would be to wear a cute pair of flip flops rather than to lace up my New Balances for another day.

I think one of the things I love most about being middle-aged is having the perspective that grows out of living long enough to look back on the good old days.  If I remove nostalgia from the mix and let my mind go back to the way I felt long ago, I realize that at the time my babies were tiny and waking me numerous times each night, I longed for them to outgrow their need to keep me busy around the clock.  I knew those were times that would soon be gone, and I heard the older folks say to cherish them because they filled such a brief time; but the truth is that I probably spent half my time longing for a little sleep.

Now my children are grown; and I can have all the sleep I want.  Now my mind returns to the dead silence of 3AM when I would pull a sweet-smelling baby close and rock her in the middle of the night.  I don’t remember how tired I was.  I only see myself engaged in sacred work — the forming of a new being — that has had lasting consequences in the years since those moments faded away and were replaced by other ones.

My perspective is different now.  It is born of my own past and of the future I see when I look at my own parents.  I realize that the good old days my father dreams of are the ones I am living now.  I see that his own days are also sacred, although he probably doesn’t think of them that way.  The lessons of the days gone by and the specters of the days that lie ahead teach us well.  What they teach is to love each moment we are given — to see each moment as sacred.  This is the blessing of middle-age.  I need to remember to tell my children, “Cherish these days.  They will slip away before you know it.”