The Days Are Long, but the Years Are Short
When our son turned four I told my mother, “The years since he was born feel like a lifetime. Maybe it’s because we haven’t gotten a complete night of sleep since he was born.”
Written by Jolene Philo
“The days are long, but the years are short.”
I repeat this phrase while I sit on the couch listening to my 7-year-old grandson read for a half hour every evening.
Each time he turns a page, he says something like, “Wow, Grammy! What do you think that is?” or “I wonder what will happen next?” He ignores the words on the page and launches into several winding, imaginative explanations.
My grandson really, really likes to talk. And use his imagination. As for the reading part? Not so much.
Which is why I eventually have to suggest, “Read the page and find out.”
He follows my suggestion––he can read more fluently than he believes––and finds out. Then he turns the page and begins the same process all over again.
To contain my impatience, I whisper to myself, “The days are long, but the years are short.”
One evening as we read, my mind wandered back to when our son was young and medically fragile. When complications arose––maybe he had a fever, refused to eat because of an oral aversion, or vomited his food because of an esophageal blockage––our days were very, very long.
Should we wait to see if he got better? Or worse?
Could we wait until morning to go to the doctor? Or call him right now?
Should we race to the emergency room in our car? Or should we call the ambulance?
Not only were the days long, but also the nights.
When our son turned four I told my mother, “The years since he was born feel like a lifetime. Maybe it’s because we haven’t gotten a complete night of sleep since he was born.”
Mom smiled and said, “The days are long, but the years are short.”
My grandson turns a page and explains, “Look at that shark! What’s it’s name?”
His words draw me into the present. I smooth down his honey-colored rooster tail and inhale his little boy smell. He leans into me, and together we sound out a challenging word. He looks up at me and smiles in triumph.
“I’m getting the hang of this, Grammy!”
He is getting the hang of reading, and I am getting the hang of the fickleness of time.
I think of my son, whose early years required several corrective esophageal surgeries before he got the hang of eating and swallowing. He’s a middle-aged man now, healthy and independent.
Where did those years go?
I look down at my grandson and smile,
grateful for this precious half-hour together,
grateful for this reluctant reader’s victory over a pesky word,
grateful his dyslexia that brings us together each night,
grateful for the joy of being part of his life,
grateful for the wisdom gained through the special needs of my son and my grandson.
The days are long and the years are short, and in the eyes of God, both have eternal value.
Written by Jolene Philo
Jolene Philo is the author of several books for the caregiving community. She speaks at parenting and special needs conferences around the country. She's also the creator and host of the Different Dream website. Sharing Love Abundantly With Special Needs Families: The 5 Love Languages® for Parents Raising Children with Disabilities, which she co-authored with Dr. Gary Chapman, was released in August of 2019 and is available at local bookstores, their bookstore website, and Amazon. See Jane Sing!, the second book in the West River cozy mystery series, which features characters affected by disability, was released in November of 2022.