I was running. So it felt like I watched the scene as a bystander--as someone who was literally just watching and not at all involved. Except I am her mother--so the entire time my heart felt like it was outside myself and it was both full to bursting of joy and cut like a knife with the thought that this was my baby-who isn't any longer my baby, and somehow I had to learn to let her be herself and I couldn't just encase her in my arms and keep her there. She was delighted and lovely and if I hadn't happened to run by, I wouldn't have been there to see. And there must be so many of those moments that happen, and I don't get to see. And there isn't a fairness in that-creating something as incredible and miraculous as a gorgeous person, an actual person, and then not being able to watch that child in every single moment.
But this moment, this moment will forever be one of my most treasured. In all of it's amazing dream-like, enshrined-in-light memory.
This past summer Ruthie woke up early every single morning. She always wakes up early, but at home she stays in her room, gets dressed, makes her bed, and chats with Molly and the baby until she comes out and helps with breakfast and leaving for school.
But this summer, this summer was magical for all of my kids (and I am so glad I had that because I was working so much, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were getting showered with love and attention and doing things that they loved all day without me and there is no better feeling, let me tell you). So Ruthie would wake up early--she'd actually trained herself, she'd go to bed telling herself that she had to be up in time for chores because she wanted so badly to help with them, and she didn't miss. She'd head outside in her nightgown--I actually have an adorable memory of her this summer of that. I was bleary-eyed and nursing Gracie on a big blue chair in the basement facing out toward the backyard at a ridiculous hour where light was barely coming up. And suddenly this redhead in a buffalo plaid nightgown comes tearing across the yard as fast as she can and disappears down into the garden. A little while later, I see her coming back up, with grandpa slowly following behind carrying a bucket from the garden. You bet she had a giant smile on her face.
Well on a day that I didn't work, I asked my mom if she was okay watching my kids while I went on a quick run. At my parents house you can run out to a highway that goes from one little tiny town to the next little tiny town, and there's a sidewalk for almost exactly one mile, and then come back for a roundtrip 2 mile run. It's perfect. Ruthie bounced in and asked if she could go with grandpa to take a horse to a different field of their neighbors. I had no idea where that was, but I said for sure, she could go, and told her to get dressed and she bounced off and I got ready to run.
I had music playing and my watch keeping time and laps and suddenly I looked up and my dad was pulling off the road right ahead of me. And I realized I was running right past the field they were taking the horse to. But at first Ruthie didn't notice me, because I was further down the road. And the scene that enfolded is etched in my brain. I've remembered it over and over and over again on purpose because I feel like I forget. I forget all the beautiful motherhood moments that I experienced and I know I had them, and I felt them, but I am so terrible at holding those memories in my mind's eye. But this one, this one I wanted to keep forever and ever and so I practiced and told it to myself over and over.
Ruthie jumped out of the big, red truck. She had on a purple t-shirt and pink shorts and big pink cowboy boots. Her hair was down and hadn't been brushed yet. There was a little halo of fly-aways that caught the rising sunlight and glowed around her beautiful head. She bounced. She really did. She was skipping in delight. Grandpa got out of the other side of the truck and she bounded after him--towards a picturesque white picket fence surrounding a field that was oddly (Utah can be so dry) green and the morning light streamed down just right so everything was buttery and story-like.
Then she looked over and noticed me running up. A grin split across her entire face "hi mom! I'm helping grandpa!" and I don't remember what else we said, but at that moment she was completely care free. She looks forward to helping my mom and dad in the garden and my dad in the barn all year long. She knows that is what summertime means. And she was relishing in it. And she was happy. And she took my breath away. And my gratitude for my dad--for always letting that little redhead tag along and bob along following his every move from the moment they were awake way too early in the morning.
I felt like my heart was breaking. And the world was freezing. And as I kept running after that split second of slowing down to pass by, I looked back to see her dance into the field and my dad asking her to hold the fence, and her smile all big as she was so proud to help.
I wish I could keep her in that moment forever. A little bit, anyway. Pure and filled with a golden happiness of a fresh summer morning in a clean, crisp space.
She might not remember, but I always will. And she will always be that perfect little girl of mine.
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