My Three Little Boys: The Inevitability of Loss

When I first held Kyan in my arms I knew that all of the dreams and aspirations I had ever had were contained within his tiny little body. As he grows from my newborn baby to the tiny little man that he is becoming, I mourn each passing phase and say goodbye to the Kyan of each moment.

Now that I have brought two more amazing little beings into the world I am reliving the cruel dance of time and watching them change and grow. Perhaps the pain of each loss is more profound because I know that I will never again cradle a newborn that I birthed, or see the first smile of one of my children, or watch the first awareness of the world develop through the eyes of my child.

I realize this all sounds ridiculously morose, but perhaps my focus on these losses has something to do with the season...the earth around us is in quiet hibernation and the season is dark and cold. Monday brings the winter solstice and the sun will begin its ascent back into our lives as the days get longer and we creep toward the buds of springtime. This slow spiral that we experience each year as the seasons change is reflected in the growth of my children as I watch them change and know that I will never again know them as they are right now.

I have often thought about the loss my parents must feel when they think back to our childhood. My mother has told me many times how much she misses her little girl...I used to scoff at her silly sentimentality, but now I know exactly what she means. Each year we lose some part of our child while we gain a new aspect of him. I love the newly intellectual and contemplative Kyan, but I sure do miss his baby babble and his chubby cheeks.

When I look back at the pictures of the twins when they were newborns, a mere 6 months ago, I feel like I barely know those little beings who are now babbling babies with expanding personalities and preferences. I try to remember Kyan at this age and it is a bit of a blur, lost, I suppose, in the haze of exhaustion that pervades the first year with a child.

I have begun to look at older boys with awe and try to imagine myself with three teenage sons. It makes me want to cry to imagine them shutting me out and living in a teenage universe akin to that of my students. I feel frantic to figure out the key to raising a child who is somehow resistant to the apathy that infects so many of our youth.

I know I am getting ahead of myself, but it just seems to move so fast. Sometimes I barely feel old enough to buy a bottle of wine, and other days I feel so old that I can't believe retirement is so far away!
There is so much to come in this life that Ben and I have created. I long to see what my boys will become while at the same time I want to hold them in these moments of time like a butterfly in amber. I suppose my frantic photography is my attempt at crystallizing each moment of their existence so that I don't forget who they were while they become who they are going to be.

As the sun is reborn this season I will focus on the next moment with my boys and try not to dwell too long on that which is lost. As I typed that sentence the rising sun broke through the trees and blinded me as I sat here typing at the table. It is early morning and the twins are already napping after a 6 am wake up and Kyan is with his Nana and Papa. This moment of quiet contemplation is rare and despite the pulsing of tiredness behind my eyes, I am thankful for all that I have and all that is to come, and most of all I am thankful for the amazing privilege of experiencing the lives of my three boys.

Here is a tribute to my boys as they were and as they are now: