These are the best days of my life.
Lately I find myself being overcome by waves of nostalgia. They wash over me suddenly, brought on by a song on the radio, the scent of something passing by, or a long forgotten flavor brought back to the forefront of my mind.
I used to think nostalgia was a happy word but when it hits me it's often accompanied by subtle tones of sadness and longing for good times now passed. When I'm feeling nostalgic I only remember the good times. The lens of time warps my view and my memories of anything negative are hazy at best.
The good times stand out. The best times are crystal clear.
I've tried many times to explain this melancholy feeling I get to Dave. I keep telling him that I hope when we go to heaven there is a movie theater playing non-stop films of the best days of our life. I'm hopeful that heaven will have that.
These were the best days of my life.
Dave and I were young and in love and beautiful. We had everything in front of us. Everything was so exciting. I still remember the soreness I felt in my cheeks from smiling so wide during our first awkward conservation in the laundry room of our apartment building. I remember the sweetly sickening butterflies fluttering around the top of my stomach the next day hoping that every buzz of my phone was a text from him. And I remember the giddy excitement I couldn't hide when one finally was. I remember the electricity of holding his hand for the first time in the dark of my apartment living room watching a stand up comedian on TV. Everything was fresh and everything was exciting and everything was special and new. They were the best days of my life.
These were the best days of my life.
I was a teenager, sheltered by the work of my parents and love of my family. These were the days of my hardest chore being loading the dishwasher after dinner. They were the days when my biggest concern was whether or not my letter jacket would arrive in time for my family vacation to Utah. (A vacation, by the way, I neither planned nor paid for.) It was a time when I came home from a not-so-grueling day at school to a mother who asked how my day was and prepared a family dinner, a father who came home from work to help with my not-so-strenuous homework, and siblings who thought I was cool enough to hang out with. I wish I could go back for one more car ride from early morning seminary to school where Jack and I would inevitably stop somewhere for breakfast along the way. I wish I could go back to the family nights where Lauren would inevitably ask someone to play a game with her. Life was simple and beautiful and I didn't even know it. I just wanted to grow up.
These were the best days of my life.
These were the days that my beautiful babies were born. I have goosebumps dotting my arms and tearing welling in my eyes just remembering these perfect, wonderful days. I wish those moments could be frozen in time for just a bit, those moments where those brand new babies were placed in my arms, their souls having just been with Heavenly Father. It was a moment that no one could have prepared me for, a moment where I was so overwhelmed with pure love it startled me. They smelled like vanilla frosting and I couldn't put them down. Those were the best days of my life and they just went by too fast.
These were the best days of my life.
Dave and I moved our tiny little family into a tiny little apartment a few miles away from my parents. The three of us shared a bedroom and seven hundred square feet of cramped living space and it was wonderful. I could clean the entire apartment, floor to ceiling, in one afternoon. We had a little balcony we could sit on and watch the fountain in the courtyard below. It was the first time we had our own place as a family of three and it felt blissful. It felt like family. It felt like home.
These are the best days of my life.
Sam had a hard time settling in for his afternoon nap. I listened to him toss and turn in his crib trying to get comfortable for a while. Finally, frustrated and awake, he started to cry. I came to the rescue with open arms and a bottle of grape juice. I brought him out to the rocking chair in my bedroom and cradled him like a newborn and sang song after song until his eyes got heavy and he started drifting to sleep. Occasionally he would look up at me with big giant eyes and sometimes I'd close my own eyes only to feel a tiny little hand pat me on the chin.
That evening Dave came home from work and we met at the grocery store where the bus drops him off. We walked around with the kids in a race car cart and picked up frozen yogurt and a rotisserie chicken. The girl at the check out gave Katelyn a strip of stickers that read "I've been Krogering." When we got home, Kate promptly peeled off all the stickers and stuck them on the two of us until we were covered in smiley face stickers of primary colors. Finally, with our two beautiful children fed, bathed, and fast asleep, I sat down on the couch to eat my dessert and watch re-runs of Seinfeld with my best friend. Now, almost seven years later, when we hold hands there is a warm and comforting familiarity that I love. We'll go to bed early because we can and I'll smile when I think back to the days when goodnight meant goodbye so we tested the limits of our ability to stay up late. I'm so lucky to be able to say goodnight but not goodbye to my love.
That was one of the best days of my life.
That day was today.
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