The dreaded apology

Molly was a hamster that Middlesweet adopted a few years ago, and it lived a relatively peaceful life in her little house in a corner of our home until Wonderful noticed that it was not eating as much during the last weekend. I held the trembling body in my hand and noted that the poor thing's abdomen was swollen and black. I warned Middlesweet that her little pet was very sick and probably not long for this world. Monday morning the little thing started smelling rotten and by evening it had become a lifeless form on a blue towel prepared for a final goodbye. I held my daughter in my lap in front of the fuzzy form and encouraged her o whisper her goodbye, and through moans of grief and tears Middlesweet apologized to the hamster. "I'm sorry I didn't play with you enough!"

The other two children were allowed to say their goodbyes after Middlesweet completed her alone time with her pet and I buried the little body in an undisclosed location. I was given pause by Middlesweet's sad confession of not spending enough time with her pet. Of course too much time with the hamster would have probably terrorized the little thing, but how much time would have been enough? I feel like confiding in my daughter that I never spend enough time with her, and that when it comes time for her to move on to the next things I will tearfully admit that I won't be ready. Life marches in a continuous string of moments that cannot be retained or paused. I hope my children remember plenty of those moments on my lap or in my embrace to sustain a sense of my love for them, but I will be still be asking for one more moment to say it one more time. Every loved one to whom I have said goodbye deserved so much more than I gave. I think I will tell my girl that it is better to realize that we made an attempt to show our love than to realize that we kept planning on doing it better later instead and never got to it.