Time is such an illusion. Revisiting memories feels like yesterday but forever at the same time. It’s sad when you can’t pick your babies up anymore. Or hold their hand.
One day it just stops. It turns to little hugs, mostly when they need encouragement or when they’re sad or at a hello goodbye.
You have to adjust to not being physically intertwined. Then one day you realize you didn't even know when it was the last time.
You blinked and through the decades you learned to settle for a peck on the cheek, or a cheerleader hug over the shoulder, with a, “love you!” on your way out the door.
I think it might be even harder for dads. Because many of them don’t express sentiment or emotions easily. They lock it up and put it on a shelf when it comes to understanding how necessary it is -- the weight of its impact.
Words become the replacement for the tiny hands reaching out, advice replaces cuddles and moments of expressed intimacy and love with your child.
As life unfolds, we go from just BEING with them. The evolution is unplanned, it’s necessary, and it changes you. You grieve while they're right in front of you. You feel nostalgic as you witness their joyful life unfold. You celebrate their children. You go from being their heartbeat, their soft-landing spot, and their ultimate comfort to being their cheerleader on the sidelines of life. You adapt to the ache for the physical presence. You miss the twinkle in their eyes as a toddler, and you grieve the little heart you knew so completely like when they were young and innocent and thought you were the whole world.
This is the unfolding of parenting. Love, joy, and warmth. Close yet distant. Joyful yet sad. Attached yet liberating. Expressive yet silent.
The moments keep slipping away into the future. And create the magic that becomes their big life.
Don’t blink.
Shelli Netko (c) 2025
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