The Little Moments We Treasure Most

The tears didn’t begin to flow, however, until the National Anthem began to play, signaling the start of the race. I looked over and saw my six-year-old grandson, Oliver, standing straight, eyes forward, with his hand covering his heart. That image will forever be etched in my memory. There was something so beautiful about his child-sized reverence for his country. It was a simple moment, but one that touched me deeply. Then the runners were off.

The weather was not ideal. In fact, I don’t think there was a dry spot on any of us by the end of the race. But we were undeterred. We moved to several different spots along the course so we could catch a glimpse of Matthew and cheer him on.

Each time he passed, his big smile and wave made my heart fill with joy. My son was doing something he had worked hard to accomplish, and he was surrounded by the people who loved him most.

During the last leg of the race, we positioned ourselves once again to cheer him toward the finish line. By then, we could tell there were fewer smiles and only a slight wave. Matthew was tired. Really tired.

We hurried to meet him after the race, but it was obvious he needed a minute to recover. He sat down on the curb, quietly catching his breath. Then Oliver walked over and sat down beside his dad.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He simply sat there, quietly supporting his father while he recovered.

I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick picture, capturing that precious moment. It was amazing to watch this little six-year-old read the situation and give his dad exactly what he needed, not words, not questions, just quiet support. Again, the tears.

Soon it was time to celebrate, so we loaded into the car and headed out for brunch. By the time we arrived, Matthew’s muscles were already tightening up, so he stopped beside the car to stretch. I looked over just in time to see Oliver stooping and stretching, mimicking his father’s every movement. Another picture-perfect moment.

I soon realized I wasn’t the only one moved by these little gestures. Matthew asked me if I could send him the pictures of him and Oliver sitting on the curb and stretching beside the car. I knew then that his father’s heart was just as full as mine. He wasn’t simply remembering the race. He was capturing memories of experiencing it with his family.

How often do these little moments happen in our lives, and we are simply too busy to stop and appreciate them? Perhaps that is one of the gifts of getting older. We begin to understand the brevity of life and the preciousness of the ordinary moments we might have overlooked.

And my memory-making day wasn’t over. After leaving Matthew and his family, I made another stop to see two more of my grandchildren in Mechanicsburg. A few hours later, I was heading toward the car to make the drive home when my nine-year-old granddaughter, Saylor, said, “Nana, I would like to walk you to your car.” She had never done that before, and I was loving every minute of it.

We chatted all the way down the sidewalk until she walked me to my car. We hugged, I told her I loved her and hoped she had a great week, and she hugged me back before trotting off toward the house. I got into my car and started to back out. “Hey, Saylor!” She turned around. “I love you! I hope you have a good week!” She smiled. I started to back out again. “Hey, Saylor!” She turned around once more. “I love you!” By about the fifth time, she smiled and said, “Oh, Nana!” I finally pulled away, heading home with a smile of my own plastered across my face.

What a day. There were no grand celebrations or life-changing announcements. Just a half marathon, a little boy sitting beside his exhausted dad, a granddaughter walking her Nana to the car, and a few extra “I love yous.”

But those are the moments that stay with us. The moments that make us stop. The moments that bring tears to our eyes. The moments we tuck away in our hearts and hope we never forget.

Our children may grow up, marry, have children of their own and create lives that are separate from ours. But somehow, we never stop being their cheerleaders. And somewhere along the way, they become ours, too. I am not sure how I ever got so lucky to call these amazing humans my family. But I know this much: I will never stop cheering for them. And I will never stop being grateful for the little moments.

Rhonda S. Kelley, Executive Director, Juniata River Valley Chamber of Commerce