Richard’s work party was held last Friday evening at a local theme park. Richard was out of town, so we went without him.
We gathered from the far reaches of our current domains to be together. Paige came up from school in Provo and we met Daniel at his job in Murray. Timothy turned down two invitations from friends to be with us. Mark skipped a baseball practice.
After much ado, we were together, driving up I-15 in the old black minivan. I switched songs on the radio based on the commentary from the back seats. Finally, we resorted to the classical station, only to hear Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, its pensive notes contrasting with the mood of the evening. Timothy made a joke about roller coasters in slow motion to match the melody and we all laughed, the frustrations and responsibilities of the day sliding off and revealing a truer version of ourselves.
During that drive, a familiar feeling came to my heart. I felt as I did during our drives in Arizona, seeking homeschool adventure in our old van, years ago. Triggered by the old, well-trod pattern togetherness, we laughed as we heard Timothy and Daniel’s protests against Adele’s songs on every radio station. The voices were deeper and no one was strapped in a car seat, but some essential feeling had come back during the drive.
It made me wonder if I will ever love a stage of life as much those years when we ran around the desert together. It made me sad that I hated the desert so much when we lived there. I didn’t appreciate what a gift that isolation was to our family. I always loved time with the kids, but who knew the backdrop of our adventures would also hold my heart? When will my point of reference for “wonderful” move to a new period in our lives?
I have changed during these four years, living in the mountains. I don’t lead out in adventures with the kids as I used to. Did I impart all my courage to them, or have I redirected my courage to other areas? I have always lived with big fears, but they, too seem to change. A new fear is that the best days with the kids all together are over.
I want to remember this night because it reminded me that despite all that has changed, some essence of our family dynamic remains strong. We still love our times together. I want it to be enough to know that, despite the reality that similar days are rare.
The late summer twilight-lit faces, spinning and rushing through the park that night are a memory I hope will join the ranks of the good old days when I look back on it, years from now. By then, I trust that these bittersweet thoughts will be dulled by time and experience and new joys. The light really was golden on this evening, perfect for capturing and framing good memories.