Missed it

I'm a sentimental kind of a gal.  I like to remember the big (and little) moments--especially the firsts and the lasts.  I remember the day I walked into my first classroom as a teacher.  My parents were with me, I held the key in my hand, and just before I unlocked the door my parents and I paused and we talked about what this meant--me being a teacher.  "You'll never walk into your first classroom again" dad told me.  I walked off of Girl's Hill at Camp Roger that last night before the cabins were torn down.  I stopped and looked and remembered.  I wanted that last image to be forever etched in my brain.  As we left our house to go to the hospital and deliver Garrison I stopped in the living room and had Gary take a moment with me.  I knew this house would never be the same.  I have a copy of my first real paycheck.  I gripped my classroom key from Chicago Christian a little tighter before I turned it in because I knew I was leaving teaching and didn't know when or if I would return.  I love the watch the last episode of a tv show, even if I hadn't really watching the whole series.  Yeah. . . I could keep listing on and on.  Sappy.  Sentimental.  I think this is part hard-wired and part parental coaching.  I'm thankful I have this.  It helps me to mark moments, to see the hand of God, to take a step toward moving on.

Thus it was with great sadness that I missed a moment.  I missed it.  I knew it was coming and I had even brought the camera.  With all the driving back and forth from the hospital it looked like our car would be turning 100,000 miles.  I love that kind of stuff.  I was going to take at picture at 99,999 and then again at 100,000.  I had even begun to think about all the trips, visits, and "episodes" the car had seen.  I was going to think about them as it happened.  I left the hospital at 99,983 and then. . . . 100,011.  What?!?  I couldn't go in reverse.  Somewhere along the highway there was a moment that I could never go back to.  I called Gary who was still at the hospital and shared my lament.  He didn't seem as distraught over the news as I was. . . probably because it is a car.  Boo.