Slipping Through

I feel the days slipping through my fingers like water through a sieve. I try to grab on, hold fast, to what is elusive, evasive, and escapes my grasp. Moments and days have flown far away like some eagle soaring high.
As I envision my years of mothering drawing close, I  am startled, panicked by the numbers dwindling. I want to reach out, hold on, as if I could capture sunshine in a jar to pull out upon some rainy day ahead.
I pack a lunch, cling tight, pray harder as my chicks stumble out of the nest. And though I am thrilled to watch each one soar, I grieve that my job will soon end. Tomorrow they will all be gone. Out of my reach. Toothpaste won't stain the sink. Empty pretzel bags will not be scattered upon the couch, upon the floor. I won't hear footsteps pounding down the stairs or whistling coming up. Laughter won't permeate the rooms nor shouts of "Wait for me! I'm coming!" The walls will only echo sounds long gone. The chairs will not scrape across the kitchen floor.
I know, oh how I know, that these sunset days of motherhood will soon end.
And I wonder how I can bear the silence, endure the guilt of wasted moments, or the question whether I did enough or too much in preparing my chicks to fly.
I want to shout, "Don't leave me!" , and applaud the grace of flight, all at the same time.
I realize, slowly, that it has always been this way. From the moment of their birth, it has been a process of letting go, releasing them to soar. That my role, as Mom or Mother or even Deborah, to my jokster son, has been, from  the beginning, one that is poured out like a watering can emptying all of its contents into another. For their growth, their benefit. It has been a calling of sacrifice, a pursuit of hollowing. A purposeful, willing and necessary opportunity to discharge the contents, the hopes and dreams of my heart and mind, into another. Soon I'll be left idle, arms devoid of hand clasps and hugs, and I will no longer be scrambling to find shoes or lost keys, or for time to finish a project or help with homework or even just sitting to listen.
Instead I linger, a bit melancholy, with a heart like water flowing through a sieve, pouring out prayers and thanksgiving for passing moments, passing years. Grateful for this day, this hour, when he remains within my reach.