Swim meets have always been magical, and
in recent years we had a run of several years with three girls
swimming for the Leonia Swim Club team at once. But all good things come to an
end, and after the first meet of the 2010 swim season in Oradell, we
drove to our special, post-meet restaurant to eat in Paramus: The
Fireplace. We had eaten there a few years earlier after a meet
and were hooked on this retro 1950s-like hamburger and
French fries joint with a wood paneling interior. They don't use plates; instead, they give what looks like a paper coffee filter and put each item on a filter. We all loved the quirky, old-fashioned feel and it became a special place we would go to eat once or
twice each year after an away swim meet in the Paramus area.
This time, though, the magic had worn
off. Maybe it was the week of 100-degree weather we were having that
had everyone on edge. Maybe it was the realization that a
cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla milkshake is just not that good
for you. Maybe it was that my oldest two daughters were no longer
swimming on the team, because they had both begun working at summer
jobs. I realized earlier that night at the swim meet that I could not
remember how long it had been since all three of them were not
swimming. But that year, the older two were not swimming competitively
for the first time and neither one of them probably ever would again.
Maybe I was mourning these losses of childhood, of innocence, of my
own place in the world. Having these girls be so dependent on you is
the most God-like thing a person will probably ever feel, but it is
“planned obsolescence” as the parental role diminishes over time
and they go out on their own. So last night, four of us watched our
only swimmer, Ava, and I remembered that just last year two of us
were watching the three girls swim in the meets. When the four of
us—two parents, two near-adults, and one child—ate at The
Fireplace this time, things were different. For a moment, I grieved
our losses. We all became uptight. I told the older girls we were
upset and a little sad because they weren't swimming anymore. A part
of our lives was gone, and even the magic of the restaurant was
slipping away, too.
I remember Walter
Wangerin in his book, Mourning
Into Dancing talked about how these little losses in life and the
associated grief that comes is what prepares us for the finality
of death, the ultimate loss that someday we all have to face
ourselves. Little losses and griefs preparing us for the big ones. I
see this over and over now as I approach the back end of middle age.
Despite pondering these losses and the
pain, I managed to eat the cheeseburger, fries, and the vanilla
milkshake, then finished off the rest of my youngest daughter's
milkshake because it is tough for a child with wet hair in a wet
bathing suit to finish off a cold milkshake. But I was able to suck
it up and finish the shake for her. Sometimes, you just have to go on
despite the pain.