You’re two years old and we’re chasing butterflies in the meadow. It had rained last night and you’re a little wobbly on your feet so you fall into a puddle, but you don’t seem to notice.

TIME PASSES.

You’re six years old and I'm watching you play in the sandbox. You have sand in your pants and your hair is a mess but you’re having so much fun you don’t seem to notice.

TIME PASSES.

You’re nine now and playing catch with me in the backyard. You dove for the ball a couple times just to prove you could, smiling all the while. Now your jeans are ripped and there is mud on your hands but you don’t seem to notice.

TIME PASSES.

You just turned thirteen last month and boy, have you changed. I’ve been replaced by makeup and hair products. Your cute carefree ways are gone, replaced by an attitude I thought I would never see. I can’t remember the last time we played a game of catch together but you don’t seem to notice.

TIME PASSES.

Your sixteenth birthday is just a week away but you’ve been planning your party for months. It won’t be too long until you get your licence, one more thing to drive us further and further apart. Between school and your friends we’re growing further and further apart, but you don’t seem to notice.

TIME PASSES.

You’re eighteen now and graduated a few months ago. I wanted you to choose a school closer to home but you chose one states away. I don’t cry often, but when it came time to say goodbye and watch you drive away, I had tears falling down my face, but you didn’t seem to notice.

TIME PASSES.

The years go by and I only get the chance to see your beautiful face a few times a year. You met a boy in collage and moved in with him after you graduated. The last time I saw you was on your wedding day a few months ago. I was so proud to be walking you down the aisle, but you didn’t seem to notice.

TIME PASSES.

You have kids now, the two prettiest little girls I’ve ever seen. Whenever they visit during Christmas, I make sure to learn as much as I can about these growing children. I wish I could see them more, and they want more that one visit a year. The girls ask to see us more often, but you don’t seem to notice.

TIME PASSES.

As you grew older, so did I, and soon it was almost time for me to let go. Your children are seventeen and fifteen, practically adults themselves. With each of your passing Christmas visits I’d been growing weaker and weaker. Now it’s getting harder for me to remember things, but you don’t seem to notice.

TIME PASSES.

Today’s the day; I feel it in my heart, so your mother called to ask you to come. You surprised me by replying, “I’m almost there, we flew in last night.” So now I lay, in the house you grew up in, in the bed we used to share during thunderstorms, my whole family at my side. As you hold my hand and gaze into my eyes, I feel myself slipping away into a place beyond your reach. But it’s okay, because in that moment looking at your beautiful face, shining with your delicate tears I knew that you finally noticed.