The Best Years Of My Life

Recently I was asked to describe the best years of my life. Being a widow of 4 years and mother, there are many different times I considered to be the best years of my life. When I was younger, I remember summers going on seemingly forever. What wonderful times, playing tag or touch football until dark with the neighborhood kids, staying out until you had to come inside to take a bath and jump into bed. Then another warm, balmy day to play—endless, wonderfully carefree summer days.

The next wonderful part was my marriage and subsequent birth of my three boys. Each moment of their births, respectively, is etched indelibly upon my memory. My oldest arrived two weeks early. A friend of my husband's said, "Oh, you'll go another week." I was determined it wouldn't be so, since I had labor pains all day. He arrived that night, 37 minutes after entering the hospital. He came out quiet, face blue, because the cord was wrapped twice around his neck. My husband, who was in the delivery room with each of our boys, didn't let out that bit of information until many years later. My oldest was dark haired and perfect, a little miniature human being. Always active and a handful, but a wonderful, compassionate person who turned 23 this year.

My middle son arrived screaming, as if he could hardly wait to enter the world. He arrived right on time, barely waiting for the doctor to get changed into scrubs before he made his quick appearance. He was the head banger. If he fell, he always managed to hit his head. Since his speedy arrival, he's been laid back ever since and has a wonderful, dry sense of humor. That was a memorable 21 years ago.

My youngest son was a real surprise when I discovered myself pregnant at 35. I knew one fall day that our family was not yet complete until he arrived. With his labor I had mild back pain, so off we drove to the hospital. Within ten minutes of the hospital I asked my husband for his watch. The erratic labor pain had suddenly gone to every two minutes. We were whisked into the delivery room with only twenty minutes to spare. He arrived screaming his lungs out, eager to see what was going on. I’ll never forget the moment my husband looked at me and said, "You make beautiful babies." That beautiful baby is now 15.

The best years and memories are scattered so delightfully throughout my life, but they all involve my family. At times the images arrive in vivid, fresh detail, as if I'm looking at a photo album.

When my husband became ill and died, there was a long time I didn't think I'd ever be able to say "the best years of my life" again. My life went on hold and I felt stuck, emotions running from lonely and confused to isolated. I tried to understand my life circumstances, but many days I felt as if I was drifting around like a tumbleweed. I seemed to lose all purpose and passion in my life.

In a gradual process, the darkness lifted away. It wasn’t always a straightforward thing, and some days I fell back to the old hurt, other days there was no noticeable movement, but at times the smallest step forward felt better than none at all.

Now, four years later, I realize there are many days yet that I will be able to look back and say, “These are some of the best years of my life.” I have become so much more empowered from the experiences I have been given. This may seem a strange way to look upon life’s stresses, but I’ve learned to take away something good out of each “sad” experience.

I now find it exciting, knowing there is so much before me, and many of the best years of my life are yet to come.

Elaine Williams ©2008