I don’t know why, but as each year ends there seems to be a gasp of shock across the universe over the speed with which time flashes by. This is true at any age, but more so for a super senior. We are too painfully aware of the passage of time.

Every article written as a year-ender kind of grabs you by the collar and tells you, quite rudely if you ask me: “Hey fool, time is fleeting! Is life passing you by?”

Time was when I saw myself front line and center at the parade of life. I thought I was a high-stepping, baton-twirling majorette marching to tunes by John Philip Sousa, flaunting the flushed cheeks of my youth and daring the crowds who milled behind to follow me.

But in time, other faces took the lead. The years dashed past me and slowly those in line with me started falling out. Some joined other parades, while others just fell away. I simply ran out of speed.

I remember the words of an old clown: “There is nothing sadder than to watch a parade from behind after it has passed. You run after the last band but never catch up. There you stand in your funny costume, bright red nose and floppy shoes, with tears running down your chalk white face, out of breath and out of time.” Sad.

Not just for moms

I came across a poignant piece written by Hannah Keeley, behavior therapist, writer, TV personality, mother. I want to share some excerpts in the hope that they hit home. Her words filled me with deep nostalgia and regret—wishing for “one more time,” knowing all too well that my wish would stay somewhere up there with zillions of similar requests, filed under “too late.”

She writes:

“I thought it was a night like any other night. I was folding the laundry on my bed, listening to my daughter sing her heart out in the shower. Then my throat tightened and I felt panic set in. When did I last wash her hair?

“‘Katie, do you need any help washing your hair?’ Her reply brought tears to my eyes. ‘No Mama, I’m fine.’

“There has been a motto I’ve lived with in parenting ever since I had my first child: Make sure they remember joy yesterday, experience joy today and anticipate joy tomorrow. I just didn’t know tomorrow would come so soon.

“I am a firm believer in kids playing hard and getting dirty. Children have to get dirty. It’s a universal law.

“But with dirt come baths. I remember my two oldest daughters… I would wash their hair, then the hair-washing turned into just helping them rinse out the shampoo. Then the rinsing turned into ‘I’ll help you rinse that one spot on top of your head.’ Then came ‘No Mama, I’m fine.’

Beauty in the moment

“Here’s the deal with motherhood: It’s our job to raise independent kids; but no one tells you how to handle it when it really happens. That night, it happened.

“I thought back—when was the last moment I rinsed the shampoo out of her hair? Why didn’t I know it was the last time? If I would have known, I would have done a better job, or made it last longer, or kissed her head, or something.

“I couldn’t see the laundry anymore because the tears blurred my vision. But I kept folding and praying, ‘God help me remember how quickly this is going by. Help me appreciate every single day, even the hard ones. Show me the beauty in each moment, even the bad ones.’

“I thought of David, pleading with God, ‘Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.’

“He was probably having one of those moments when the brevity and speed of life strikes you and you realize you can’t put on the brakes. He wanted enough wisdom to slow down and appreciate each day as a gift from God, because he realized that when it’s gone, it’s gone.

“The cure isn’t to slow down. That’s impossible. The cure is a heart of wisdom. The wisdom to know that broken dishes, stained clothes and spilled food are never reasons to lose your temper. The wisdom to know that school assignments can always be done later, after the sun sets and the mud puddles have all dried up. The wisdom to know that every moment is a sacred moment—changing diapers, snuggling on the sofa, swinging at the park, even washing hair. They’re all sacred, if you can just slow down enough to see it.”

Second chances

Then Keeley talks about a fateful day years later when one daughter broke her wrist, had it in a cast for six weeks and couldn’t wash her own hair.

“But we don’t always get second chances. There will be a last fort with chairs and blankets. There will be a last story before bed. There will be a last outfit put on a Barbie doll. There will be a last swing at the park.

“We don’t need to know when the last one will be. We just need the heart of wisdom to appreciate each one.

“Because after seven children and years of thinking I had all the time in the world, I realized something: Life will run off with you if you let it. Sometimes you just have to stop and breathe it in.”

Keeley prays: “Thank you for teaching me to number my days. And God, when I forget, please give me a nudge and number them for me.”

It’s a good prayer. Try it. He will.