How Baby

You know how it’s so sad when you realize, many years after the fact, that you’ve already done something for the last time? It’s even weirder when it happens in the moment that you’re experiencing it.

Momo’s joined the district band because there’s no band program at her school – she plays the drum, and there’s a comic in the hopper about that, trust me – which means, for my carless self, that every week we need to walk from her school to a local high school. The first time we made the walk, we walked under the most beautiful canopy of pure golden-yellow leaves, each the size of my hand, looking like they were dripping out of these trees all around our heads. The air was crisp and perfect, we were together and surrounded by the sounds of happy children. Her little hand found mine and bade me stop and take it all in, because I think even she could sense how special the moment was.

And I knew, next week on that same walk, most of these leaves would be gone. And there’s no telling if she’ll do this particular band next year, so no guarantee we’d even walk this direction ever again. As you get older, fewer moments in life feel truly unique; as your children get older, they reach for you less and less.

One perfect, fleeting moment – and probably never again.

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CONVENTION UPDATE: I’m going to be at Akimatsuri on September 23, so if you’re a local you can find me there!

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TRANSCRIPT

Panels 1-2: An autumnal scene. Momo and Lindsay are walking; Lindsay is carrying a backpack and drum case.

Momo: Wow, mom! Look! It’s so pretty!
Lindsay: Uh huh.
Momo: No, mom. Look.

Panels 3-4: Lindsay looks up at a golden-yellow canopy of leaves, stunned.

Lindsay (thoughts): When we come this way next week, all these leaves will be gone. And we might not walk this way next year. This could be the only time I see this in my life.

Panel 5: textless; Momo and Lindsay stand holding hands and looking up.