My husband and I are not fortunate enough to have our parents nearby.  As a matter of fact, they are all out of state in completely different directions from one another.  Both of my brothers are also out of state.  As I have matured as a mother, missing my extended family has become more and more painful.  We are blessed, however, with my father's extended family here in Atlanta. 

My schedule is anything but normal.  Weekends, holidays, evenings, and the occasional overtime scheduled whenever.  That schedule is hard enough to handle with my children and husband, much less finding time to spend with our extended GA family.  So, unfortunately, time has slipped through our fingers and time spent with family has not been as abundant as I had once hoped. 

I finally "had some spare time" this evening to take my grandparents dinner, who live an hour east of me.  Fighting the Atlanta traffic is always a chore, and I was fairly tired when I arrived.  Upon making it to the driveway, there was a police cruiser.  Naturally I was instantly worried, wondering if one of my grandparents had fallen, gotten ill, or worse.  It only took a five second conversation with the nice policeman to realize my grandma just forgot to turn off the alarm system when she opened the front door, and as most elderly are, was not quick enough to deactiveate the alarm before the police were dispatched.

I lovingly put a meal together for them before starting my drive, and as I made my way to the kitchen to assemble their plates, I was struck with a certain sadness and guilt:  I do not visit enough.  Each and every time I visit, they seem significantly worse than the time before.  All of that precious time I thought I had was not so abundant as I once thought it was.  I immediately was humbled by the routine my grandparents shared:  before dinner, my grandfather, wheelbound ridden, would drive himself to the restroom.  Grandma would gather his and her drinks from the livingroom and put them on the dining room table by their respective places.  Grandpa would drive back in the area and park himself at his part of the table.  As long as I have known them, they have always eaten every meal at the table.  Regardless of their handicaps, they refused to fall out of their routine.  How many times have I made my family eat meals at the table?  I can count on one hand.  There was something so intimate, so comfortable about sitting and eating with family, even if in silence. 

Staring across the table at my grandpa unable to eat made me realize that during my busy life, I was missing out on what is truly important:  the beauty of children learning how to use their utincils correctly, or my husband pretending to enjoy the meal I just burnt, or even dinner with relatives I don't make enough time for anymore.

I have spent so much time over the past several years trying to balance my busy career, homelife, and personal time.  Now, reflecting on the precious time my grandparents have left in this world, I wonder if I have gone about things all wrong.  That maybe my priorities are not quite right.  In any case, I will savor those precious moments from earlier this evening and try to live life from here on out with a new appreciation for my life.  Maybe being the "supermommy" I have tried to hard to be isn't such a good thing, after all.