Do you remember how your parents begged you not to age too fast? I do. As an adult, I find myself hoping for the same for them. For my entire childhood, my mother told us that she didn’t want us to grow up. She would joke that she wanted to find a magic dryer to shrink us so we didn’t have to grow up and could stay her babies forever. For me, this is a sweet thing to recall. The love my mother shared for her children was always unconditional. She loved spending her days with us and never wanted it to end. She was a child herself when she had us, some would say. By the time she was twenty-five years old, she had two kids under five running around. That idea alone was living proof of the wholeheartedness of her statement. When I compare my life to hers, I could never have imagined such a feat during my twenties.

I am blessed with young parents. At fifty-seven and fifty-eight years old, neither of them considers themselves old. But, with their age going up comes my wish for time to stop. The train of life often goes much faster than I would want it to. When I was young, I had the luxury of time. The numbers were like an endless windy road. I felt overwhelmed with excitement to escape the confines of the beloved bubble of a family dynamic. In the springtime of my life, it was easy to wish myself away to the next season ahead. But as I got older, I realized how wrong I was to do that. My parents retired and moved out of our hometown when I was twenty-six years old. I never felt more lost and reflective.

Time can be the best teacher of all. Being on my own gave me time to miss my parents. I was living my own life, but also reaching out more. The evolution of our relationship had begun. We no longer needed the parent-child dynamic in the literal sense. We were growing together into the next chapter of all our lives. I started to cherish visits and look forward to FaceTime calls. I found myself having sweet intentioned thoughts like my mom used to when we were kids about my parents. Where was that dryer?

In 2023, my family received terrible news. In April of that year, we found out my mom had lung cancer. This diagnosis shook me to my core. When I heard the word cancer, my mind went to the worst case, the possibility of a world without my mom. How was I supposed to face anything without her? The idea caused me to regress from the strength I once knew to a shell of myself. The perceived threat of this loss could bring me to my knees. I would always need my mom. My scariest thoughts dared to come true.

The year ahead was a long one, but we rallied around my mom as a family. A magic dryer couldn’t shrink any of us. We were all susceptible to the vulnerability of the moment. Time was no longer a teacher. It attempted to be the biggest bully on the playground of life. But, in a way, I’m thankful for the wake-up call. During that time, our family lived in the most intentional of lights. We called daily; we texted each other and communicated thoughts, feelings, and emotions. Nothing was off limits and we made the time to connect without the excuse of the pace of our individual lives. This bond was a necessary tool in what got my mom and our family through. In August 2024, doctors told us she was in remission. The weight lifted, but the effects on our family remained. I’m so thankful she managed to beat such a horrible disease. But I find myself hanging onto every moment. The train of life isn’t stopping anytime soon and I don’t want to miss a thing.

Editor: Shannon Hensley