these next three and then get out of here.” I stepped out of the dressing room to
give her some space and called Chris.
Suddenly she called out to me, “Mom. Can you come in here?”
I tried to read her voice but couldn’t tell if she was crying, frustrated, needing
help with a stuck zipper, or something else. I cracked open the door. She had on a
floor length gown and I could see her reflection in the mirror and she looked, in a
word, stunning. It was perfect. The dress was peach and had beautiful flowy side
panels that were pink. It was everything she had wanted—no sparkles, no lace, an
open back, and a bright color. Our eyes caught in the mirror.
“What do you think, Mom?”
I could feel the tears coming. When she was an infant, I remember experiencing
that same tidal wave of emotion that can wash over you when you love someone so
much. In the middle of the night, I’d wake up to go check in on her, and there
standing alone in her nursery, watching her sleep on her back with her arms raised
up above her head, I’d get hit with this tidal wave of love—and just marvel at my
ability to love something so much. It felt like my heart might burst.
That’s what I felt standing outside the dressing room in the mall. I just felt love.
And then, the worries rushed in and stole the moment from me. Without warning,
I was thinking about her heading off to college, getting married, being a new mom,
living far away from me, time passing, getting older, and my life being over. My life
flashed before me. Time was racing by and for a fleeting moment, I felt I was losing
her. I felt overwhelmed with sadness and loss and my eyes swelled with tears.
Sawyer saw me getting emotional, and thought it was because of the dress. “Ah,
Mom. Don’t cry. You’ll make me cry.” But I was crying because of how scared I
was to see her grow up. I was crying because time was passing too fast and I wanted
life to slow down. Worry robbed me of all the joy in that moment. It took me away