Spending the Night

I am packing my bag for a sleepover; I'm headed to Granny and Grandpa's house to spend the night. Thinking back, it's been at least 20 years since I spent the night there. Thirty years ago, spending the night with my grandparents was a treat. Twenty years ago, spending the night with my grandparents was a hassle. Ten years ago spending the night with my grandparents was unheard of. Tonight, spending the night with my grandparents is an honor.

I am the designated driver in the morning. Granny and Grandpa don't need or necessarily want me to spend the night, but the family consensus is that someone should. Granny has told people she and Grandpa can do this on their own and she's right. Grandpa is more relaxed about the sleepover and calls me moral support. Secretly, this is selfish--I am stealing time, time that is frighteningly short. Grandpa has minor surgery tomorrow morning. However, a minor surgery isn't minor at 84. Although I don't expect anything to go wrong in the morning, life offers no guarantees.

Over the weekend a 17-year-old student lost her father. His death was sudden, unexpected, and tragic. This student told me yesterday she wishes she'd taken more pictures--her most recent picture with her father was at Christmas. She talked through her tears about memories. Not extravagant gifts or overseas trips. Not that perfect shirt her father bought her. Her memories were of knowing her father, knowing that he loved her horse and dog, and that he was quietly proud of her talents. What she is unlikely to ever forget is that every time she got in his car, a CD she had recorded was playing. Her voice, his ears, their love. She will send that CD with him tomorrow when she tells him goodbye, but she won't forget what it meant.

Just as she can't go back and fill her memory card with pictures, I can't go back twenty years and enjoy the time I spent with my grandparents. I was a teenager and thought I had better things to do. For a chunk of my life, the family I now hold so dear was not a point of focus. There were years in my life I devoted entirely to myself, unwilling to share my time with others and unaware that my time was all too short.

It is a well-established fact that I screw up frequently and sometimes seriously. I am not a good example of much and am too impulsive for my own or anyone else's good. I have a big mouth and say what I feel. The upside of saying what I feel is that my important people--my family and my few close friends--know how precious they are to me. I can't go back. I can't undo the hurts I caused. I can do my best to get it right from here on out, though, and part of getting it right is treasuring this time.

I'm spending the night doing things I wouldn't choose. I'm packing for a sleepover that elicits feelings that I, with my solid vocabulary, have no words to describe. I don't know if I'll sleep tonight, and I don't suppose I care. I'm going to the visitation for my student's father, and from there I'm heading to Granny and Grandpa's. I won't be taking pictures tonight, but I'm certain I'll remember nonetheless.