All mothers have regrets,
moments they failed,
or things they would do differently,
if only they were given the chance.
However I have a regret,
and cannot imagine if I had my time again,
how I could fix it.
This regret came back to haunt me last night.
I was reading through my wordpress reader.
and greatly enjoying the eclectic mix of blogs,
I seem to have gathered,
as my favourites.
Every day, so many different posts,
at my fingertips.
I must touch those keys,
there were thoughts bursting in my head,
which I had to commit to print.
It is as I write that I can feel it.
The stress of the day leaving.
The beginnings of a smile,
twitching to break through.
The realisation the post I am writing,
is coming together.
Knowing where it is going.
And as I was thinking all this,
A wave of regret swept over me.
Three of my four children,
have not been bitten by the reading bug.
They have no desire to read.
They grew up surrounded by books,
which were read to them regularly.
Not only were they read to them at night,
but at any time during the day they wished.
Such was my desire for them to enjoy books,
as much as I do.
The reality is,
they will never joyfully clutch a book,
and wonder when the day will end,
so they can curl up,
and open that first page.
They will never stay awake,
way too late into the night,
because they have to read,
just one more chapter.
And for them at no time,
will they wonder about a character,
and smile, worry or cry on it’s behalf.
Now they are older,
two at college,
and two still at school.
I see that life is busy for them.
Priorities have changed.
There are a multitude of distractions to hand.
Netflix means there is always something on tv,
and facebook and twitter seem to fulfill their reading requirements.
As I sit back and remember,
the exciting stories of my childhood,
the slow beginnings of a love of poetry,
and now as an adult,
the joy of a good book,
I am filled with sadness.
They will never know what they are missing.
But I know,
and I cannot do anything about it.