Every morning, I drop the kids off at school, and occasionally, right as I’m driving off, I start thinking, what if that was it? What if this morning was our last?
Then I wonder: if I were the survivor, would I be able to carry grief without regret? How did our last morning go? Was I gentle enough? Did I kiss them enough times? Did I play with them enough? Did we snuggle on the couch? Lord knows I’ve been too busy to read with them lately.
This doesn’t cross my mind often, but when it does, the questions sometimes haunt me.
Then the moment becomes a declaration of change.
I will read to them tonight.
I will kiss them when they get home.
I will do every single thing I just listed because, if I end up with a second chance, I am going to make it worth it.
But then sports happen. Dinner time happens. Atlas testing happens. Keeping my children awake for a book seems less important in the moment since they need rest, and then I find myself, more often than not, right back in the same pattern I was in before I had those intrusive thoughts.
Yes, sometimes we pick up something new that sticks, but I often find myself living on the margins of motherhood and marriage. The paper is already full, and anything more might push me completely off the page.
If I add something to motherhood, I may have to erase something from my marriage. If I add something to my marriage, it may take up lines that were being used somewhere else. Every date night, every extra book, every new commitment has to fit onto a page that already feels crowded.
It’s where the echoes of a fleeting life battle with the realities of a sustainable one.
“They grow up too fast.”
“Just read it one more time.”
“Life is short.”
The voices urging us to do more are not wrong. They are often rooted in love. But they rarely acknowledge that the page is already full.
Truth is, deep down, we all know that doing more does not lead to completion. It can lead to temporary comfort, but not complete comfort, especially with social media’s portrayal of what an ideal marriage or parenthood should be.
The more I think about the most important roles in life, the more I realize they don’t come to an end.
They are the most important because they matter.
And for things that continue to matter, there is no certificate of completion.
I think that’s the conundrum.
The problem isn’t that we can’t improve. It’s that even when we do, we don’t get a final verdict.
The landscape evolves.
So maybe the answer isn’t an answer at all.
Maybe it’s changing the question from “Did I do it all?” to “Did it matter to me?”
Because “Did I do it all?” is unwinnable.
But “Did it matter to me?”
What is the evidence of that?
I didn’t read a book every night, but I read books to them.
I didn’t snuggle every minute, but I snuggled with them.
I wasn’t perfect, but I showed up.
Not because the work is complete.
Not because I got everything right.
But because when I look back, I can honestly say these people mattered to me.
And maybe the goal was never to live every day like it was the last.
Maybe the goal was simply to live life like it mattered.