Changing Like the Rising Sun

Posted: February 9, 2012 in Living The Lifestyle
Tags: , , , , ,

20120207-123313.jpg

By Mark E. Smith

My daughter looks so cozy, curled up, under the covers on the sofa bed this morning as the sun rises over the Vegas strip, the full-wall of window glass framing her. She hated the thought of the sofa bed at first, preferring her own bedroom, but now she loves it – it is a tiny Vegas high-rise condo that she agreed after all is perfect for us, just the two of us, the way it’s been for some time. This is a week-long getaway, where I can visit my company’s western manufacturing facility and give a talk at the University of Nevada (UNLV), all while my daughter and I pursue some writing and photography in a town that’s a never-ending flow of story lines and imagery – and a sofa bed turns out to be just fine by her as a place to dream.

Glancing at my own bed, I wonder if I should make it or leave it for Housekeeping to change, but I can’t remember if it’s laundry day? I’ll wait till my daughter awakes, and discuss it with her – she knows the condo’s schedule better than I do, as she pays attention to such details. For now, I’ll sit quietly, watching the Vegas sun rise over my daughter, waiting for her to awake with a smile and a stretch, as she always does, and we’ll talk about whether to cook breakfast or walk to Starbucks or Denny’s, and she’ll tell me whether it’s laundry day.

After this quick trip to the Vegas condo, we’ll be back in Pennsylvania, on our usual schedules, celebrating our birthday that’s only three weeks away. Hers is March 3, and mine is March 2, so beyond the separation of midnight, it’s kind of a shared date, so we just call it our birthday. She’s turning 15, me, 41.

I always said that the joy of parenting is in seeing your child evolve and grow, where there’s no ideal stage, but that the entire process is awe-inspiring. However, as I sit here, I realize that I just want to stop time after all. She’s perfect the way she is – ideals, flaws, no matter – she is perfect, and I just want time to stop, freeze this moment forever, much as she does with her photography.

In three years, she’ll be off to college, and our relationship will evolve in yet more ways. Of course, I want her to move out, attend an ivy-league school, maybe in the northeast, maybe out west, but far from me – she needs to fly on her own, to soar on her own. And, I, too, will be on my own – an empty-nester at such a seemingly young age, likely lost for a while. Maybe I’ll have a live-in girlfriend, or it’ll just be me and the dogs. But, no matter what, I’ll still be lost for a while – and it will be OK. It will all be OK.

And, as I sit here watching my daughter sleep, I can’t help but already miss having her as the everyday center of my life. I was the first to hold her when she was born. As a toddler, she spent more time on my lap than walking. We moved across the country together, sitting side-by-side on the airplane when she was three. I still take her to school each morning. My weeknights and weekends are filled with her band and drama rehearsals. And, the big comfy chair that she sits in while talking to me at night in my master bedroom remains her safe place to let it all out when needed. Yet, as I sit here watching her sleep as the sun rises over Vegas, I know it’s all changing – it’s ever-changing, her, me, life, all changing like the rising sun.

I really should wake her up to talk about breakfast, laundry, and our day’s events. But, I can’t. For a moment, at least, I can just sit here, admire her perfection, and watch the sun rise. Indeed, time can stand still – if only for a precious moment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s