The Time Will Come

I’ve read a bedtime story to our granddaughters, Little One and Sweet Caroline, every night The Wife and I have had the pleasure of watching them. Tonight was no exception. But tonight was different from any other in our almost thirteen-year ritual. I didn’t have a story to tell. Now that’s a story unto itself – me at a lost for words. 

Switching on the red bird night light, I said goodnight to the Girly Girls, making it halfway out the door when I heard, “Papa, you’re not going to tell us a story?”

Her words pulled me back into the room. 

“You still want me to tell a bedtime story?”

Sweet Caroline’s sleepy little voice drifted across the darkened room again, “Of course, Papa. Always.”

I pulled up a chair in the doorway trying to think about what to say but still at a loss for words. When I asked her sister if she wanted to hear a story also, no answer came. Seems the active life of an almost teenager wears her out, and she no longer needs a bedtime story to go to sleep. That time has passed for her and for her younger sister, Sweet Caroline, too almost. And out of that sadness, this story was born. 

I told her soon the time will come that she wouldn’t want to hear a bedtime story from her old Papa. As she rearranged her covers, she quietly mumbled her disagreement, but I know it to be all too true. I’d been down this road before. Just as it was with Sesame Street when they were very young, then Paw Patrol, and now Grizzy and the Lemmings, every television show has a shelf life. Bedtime stories do also.

Each morning and evening, I send them a picture on their phones of their life spent with us. They remember most, and for the ones they don’t, we delight in retelling the stories of “Back when you were very young…” The Wife and I remember it all. We’ve been fortunate to have been able to share their lives and watch them grow into the fine young ladies they’ve become. Much like wanting to hear a bedtime story, once time with them has passed, it’s gone and can’t be turned back…for either us or them.

The Wife says we helped teach them to be independent thinkers, so that one day they’ll become adults, be successful, and perhaps even have a family of their own. “Isn’t that what you want?” She asked. 

My answer has always been the same, “Of course. But I can still long for what was.” 

To start each morning and end each day, I send the Girly Girls a picture or video from their young lives spent with us. With over 75,000 on my computer, the selections may last much longer than I will. Perhaps I will be around long enough to read bedtime stories to their kids. Won’t that be a marvelous thing to experience? But my diaper changing days, just like this story, are done.

With that last comment, I quietly picked up my chair and left the room, thinking this story was over. But I was wrong, there was a surprise ending coming. The next morning, the Girly Girls came into the kitchen after ten hours of sleeping, sat down at the table, and started eating their breakfast. The were intently watching Grizzy and the Lemmings when Sweet Caroline said quietly, “Papa.”

“Yes, Sweetness?”

“If you don’t change my babies’ diapers, you can’t hold them.” I quickly looked over at her older sister, Little One, as she smiled nodding her agreement.

The time will come that they won’t want to hear a bedtime story from their old Papa, but thankfully that time isn’t now. (But don’t tell them, when the time comes, I’m still not changing any diapers.)