I called it the “Good Old Days.”
I was referring to the time in my life when my parents and in-laws and various other relatives were still alive and well and my kids were still at home.
It seemed to go on forever — those exhausting periods of parenting when there was too much to do, too little sleep to be had and an endless amounts of meals to cook and loads of wash to do.
It seemed to go on forever — until one day it didn’t.
– The soccer practices were over
– The Bar Mitzvahs were a thing of the past
– No carpools to drive nor babysitters to find
– No rousing sleepyheads to get to Sunday School on time on lazy Sunday mornings
It seemed to go on forever — those exhausting periods of dealing with aging parents — their quirks, their meddling suggestions and their gentle and not-so-gentle demands on my time and my attention.
It, too, seemed to go on forever — until one day it didn’t.
There’s another term for this “magical” time of life that I have recently become aware of: The Sacred Window.
Photo credit: Iris Pastor
The sacred window refers to a period in life when parents are healthy, children are young and loved ones are present. It’s a period in life when generations overlap effortlessly.
I wish I had savored more of the fleeting glory of this mid-life interval.
I wish I had recognized the preciousness of that period.
I wish I had fully inhabited this middle chapter — fully soaking up its magic rather than being over-focused on my ever-burgeoning to-do list and my tendency to over-productivity.
Laura Greenlee perfectly describes this magical time in a post on social media:
“There’s a window in life we don’t talk about enough.
A quiet stretch of time where things are… good.
Your parents are still here.
Your kids are still under your roof.
No one is sick.
No one is gone.
Nothing is wrong.
And because nothing is wrong, we assume nothing will change.
I call it the sacred window.
It’s the season where generations overlap.
Where your parents can still answer the phone.
Where your kids still reach for your hand.
Where holidays are loud, not lonely.
The hard part is this:
You don’t get a notification when the window starts closing.
There’s no warning.
No final normal day.
No announcement that this moment will become a memory.
One day, a chair is empty.
One day, the house is quieter.
One day, you realize you’re standing on the other side of the glass.
Not because you did anything wrong.
But because time did what time always does.
This isn’t meant to scare you.
It’s meant to wake you gently.
To answer the call instead of sending the text.
To sit a little longer at the table.
To take the photo even when you don’t love how you look.
To notice that right now is something you’ll ache for later.
You’re not behind.
You’re not missing it.
You’re inside the window.
And one day, you’ll look back and realize this was the season you were trying so hard to survive… and would give anything to visit again.
Save this.
Not out of fear — but out of love.”
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris
