I just need a minute

 Sometimes, I just need a minute.

I need a minute catch my breath as the milestones whizz by

to name what is good, to name what is ending.

I just need a minute to not be in a hurry; 

because I’ve missed some of it, raced through the season without even noticing and I can’t go back but I can take a minute to notice, now.

The way he stops at the store to buy bananas for his sick brother

and that green jacket brings out his eyes, especially when he smiles at her

and his grass covered shoes are sitting outside the back door

and how he’s still home for dinner sometimes

and he filled my coffee before he went to work this morning, 

and he checked in with me, for a minute. 

I just need a minute to hold the gifts, 

One more time.

To trace over the edges, to feel the weight in my hands

To remember when the gifts were new

And small

(small enough to curl up and sleep on my chest, 

snoring tiny snores and leaving tiny puddles of drool)

I just need a minute to wonder,
When was the last time I got a “good morning” hug?
The last zoo trip? The last chapter of the last read-aloud? 

The last time I made his day by handing him a popsicle?

The last time he drove me to the store? 

I just need a minute to sit in the empty room

before I flick off the light switch for the very last time

sitting with the weight of the gift and the reality of its ending

I just need a minute, 

I just need a little time with the never-agains

before i tuck them into the box of memory

with gratitude and tenderness and thanksgiving

My hand is almost ready to open,

But not quite; 

don’t rush it please…

I’ll get there

(help me God!)

I just need a minute.