Don’t Cry Because It’s Over. Smile Because It Happened: A Father’s Reflection

I saw a post this week that stopped me cold.

A mother of six sitting in her car. She’d just dropped off her youngest at college. All her kids—gone.

And in the caption, she wrote about how much she missed the chaos. The toys everywhere. The constant noise.

The days when she couldn’t take a shower in peace or finish a cup of coffee while it was still hot.

She said she’d give anything to have those messy, exhausting, beautiful days back.

The tears in her eyes were real. I felt them.

Then I saw a father heading to football practice with his teenage son. He posted a side-by-side:

his son now, tall and strong, next to a video from years ago of them tossing a ball in the backyard when the kid could barely hold it. The caption was simple:

“It goes so fast.”

My wife told me about a book once where researchers asked elderly people about their favorite periods of life. And their answers, surprisingly, did not include career peaks, crazy nights out with friends, or fancy travels.

Overwhelmingly, they said the same thing: when their kids were little.

These stories hit me like a ton of bricks.

Not just because I have a three-year-old myself. But because right now—in this very moment—I’m living in what everyone keeps telling me is the most beautiful time of my life.

And here’s what messes me up:

even while I’m in it, even while I’m fully aware of how precious it is and try to enjoy and soak up every moment, I know that in the future, I’ll still miss pieces of it.

I know people experience these stories differently depending on where they are in life. Some might feel pressure. Some might feel grief.

But for me, these stories fill me with something I can only describe as grateful urgency.

They make me more patient when my daughter asks me to read the same Elmo book for the hundredth time, more playful when she wants to run around the house at 6 PM, knowing damn well it’s time to start getting ready for bed.

And they make me more present when she demands my attention in the middle of something that felt important five seconds ago, but suddenly isn’t.

These reminders help me set a goal that feels both simple and impossible: to soak up every moment so completely that I never look back with regret. To never say no when she asks me to play. To never be too busy for her. To give her every ounce of presence I have while she still wants it.

But here’s the truth that I reflect on quite frequently:

Even knowing all this, even doing my absolute best, I know I’ll still fall short.

There will be moments I’m too tired. Too stressed. Too distracted by work, or bills, or whatever fire needs putting out that day. There will be times when I mistakenly choose watching a Packers game over building bridges with Legos, or efficiency over connection, or my own needs over hers.

I’ll miss things. We all do…and that’s life.

A few years ago, my family and I were in Toronto taking one of those double-decker bus tours around the city. The tour guide was about to change shifts, and before he left, he said something I’ll never forget:

“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”

And when it’s all said and done, for as difficult as it will be, that’s exactly what I’ll try to do.

Keep moving forward, and let’s all be the best present, loving, and caring parents we know we can be.

Until next time.

Alex

PS: What has been your experience so far as a parent? Any stories to share? I’d love to know. Message me @thealexisidro …I gotta go. My daughter is crying…

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