Brain Dump

Grieving Growth: On Watching My Children Change

I love nothing more than going through old photos of my toddler, and already old photos of my three-month-old. But I find that when I do, as much as it brings me joy, I feel this overwhelming sense of grief running perfectly alongside that joy.

Being a parent is the greatest privilege I've ever known. Watching my kids grow emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually gives me contentment and fulfilment like nothing else. Finally, after all these years, I feel like I have purpose and meaning. If not for my kids, I’m not sure I would ever have gotten sober.

However, I also feel a gentle yet constant undercurrent of grief. I constantly long for more time with previous iterations of my kids. It's as though one day they wake up and whoever they were for the previous 2, 3, or 4 weeks is gone forever, like they downloaded a new operating system overnight. It's the classic case of having to shed something to gain something. I don't get the joy of watching them grow without letting go of their previous versions.

I'm grateful that I learned this lesson early in my life. I'm grateful I didn't wait until my mid-fifties—when my kids would be young adults—to realise how precious time with them is.

There's a very played-out saying popular on social media lately: "No one will remember the hours you worked except your kids." I think people see stuff like this and say to themselves, "Yeah, I'm not going to stay back at work. I'm never going to put the company before my kids." But then we do. Things pop up. Deadlines happen. I'm guilty of this, too.

As much as I grieve the time lost with different stages of my children, at my core, I’m still a people pleaser. I'm still susceptible to doing extra things for people who don't appreciate it, just to get a pat on the arse. So it's important to me that I stay aware. I accept that I have to experience some form of grief in order to enjoy my children's growth, but I know I can't get time back. It's the most valuable commodity we have—like a bank account we can't check the balance on.

As someone involved in 12-step recovery, I'm constantly encouraged to "live in the day." But in this case, I think it's healthy to be aware of the potential for wasted time and of not getting enough time with each version of my children. They say, "We don't regret the past, nor do we wish to close the door on it," and I think that's the approach here.

So maybe this grief serves me. Maybe it's the constant reminder not to get caught up in the bullshit and to always come back to what matters. It reminds me that life's about spending as much time as I can doing what's important to me. For the next 25 years or so, the most important thing to me is being a good, present, and sober dad—providing my children with what I wish I had.