Late Night Melancholy
As I was singing to Jack this evening, I realized: Almost everything I've done in my life and enjoyed has been over so fast. I thought this because I suddenly remembered the song I sang to Max at our wedding, and sang it to Jack. At the same time, I closed my eyes and tried to remember singing it in my dress, clutching my bouquet so I wouldn't have to worry about what to do with my hands. I tried to remember what Max looked like, so solid and serious in his tux. Then I tried to remember what my grandfather sounded like when he read his part of the Irish blessing.
And then I thought, it was all over so fast. I knew that a bride gets to be a princess on her wedding day, and that for one day, everyone loves you and wants to be with you. I was secretly a little depressed in the days after our wedding, because the day was over and I was already losing memories. We didn't videotape anything; that's my biggest regret of the entire wedding process.
Before that, there was college. Something that I wrote is the sole line on the last page of the CMU yearbook for 1997: "I can remember seeing Morewood for the first time and walking across the cut in the fall, feeling very collegiate. It was forever ago, but it was also just yesterday. And now it's over."
I thought those words when I was looking out of the top floor of the University Center, very late at night (or early in the morning) after strike for Godspell. I had my head pressed against the glass, and I think there were actually snow flurries flying madly. And I did remember. The first time I saw Morewood was at two in the morning, after driving 18 hours from Rhode Island with my uncle, in a car with no air conditioning. I was crazy with anticipation, and I didn't sleep for two days, until orientation had started, and I was in "my" room. At some point in October, I was walking across the Cut, toward the setting sun, wearing a sweater, and thinking that, somewhere, 3000 miles away, my family was doing something, and I had no idea what it was. And I stopped and looked around and realized, "Whoa. I'm in college." I stood there and tried to drink it all in. I never wanted to forget.
I think I'm feeling this way because I'm a mom now. My life has changed so completely in just a few months. I'm never going to be in college like I was. Never going to be a bride again. Never going to be a Microsoft intern and spend a summer going to every big-budget movie. There's so much that's not going to happen. Those parts are all over.
I'm not looking for anything here. I just wanted to write these feelings down before they, too, are gone.
And then I thought, it was all over so fast. I knew that a bride gets to be a princess on her wedding day, and that for one day, everyone loves you and wants to be with you. I was secretly a little depressed in the days after our wedding, because the day was over and I was already losing memories. We didn't videotape anything; that's my biggest regret of the entire wedding process.
Before that, there was college. Something that I wrote is the sole line on the last page of the CMU yearbook for 1997: "I can remember seeing Morewood for the first time and walking across the cut in the fall, feeling very collegiate. It was forever ago, but it was also just yesterday. And now it's over."
I thought those words when I was looking out of the top floor of the University Center, very late at night (or early in the morning) after strike for Godspell. I had my head pressed against the glass, and I think there were actually snow flurries flying madly. And I did remember. The first time I saw Morewood was at two in the morning, after driving 18 hours from Rhode Island with my uncle, in a car with no air conditioning. I was crazy with anticipation, and I didn't sleep for two days, until orientation had started, and I was in "my" room. At some point in October, I was walking across the Cut, toward the setting sun, wearing a sweater, and thinking that, somewhere, 3000 miles away, my family was doing something, and I had no idea what it was. And I stopped and looked around and realized, "Whoa. I'm in college." I stood there and tried to drink it all in. I never wanted to forget.
I think I'm feeling this way because I'm a mom now. My life has changed so completely in just a few months. I'm never going to be in college like I was. Never going to be a bride again. Never going to be a Microsoft intern and spend a summer going to every big-budget movie. There's so much that's not going to happen. Those parts are all over.
I'm not looking for anything here. I just wanted to write these feelings down before they, too, are gone.